


Dark and Dangerous Like A Secret

by nubianamy



Series: The Donutverse [20]
Category: Glee
Genre: Babysitting, Caning, Cute Kids, Discipline, Dom/sub, Family Drama, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, PFLAG, Polyamory, Pseudonyms, Safer Sex, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:50:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 39,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nubianamy/pseuds/nubianamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn and Kurt take turns trying to protect one another from the judgments of others. Puck can't explain why it's too hard for him to imagine moving back in with Kurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published as chapters 22-24 of The Fingers of Your Fire. 
> 
> Set just before, during and after episode 1.17 Bad Reputation. This story follows There's Not Enough Room and parallels There's an Awful Lot of Breathing Room.
> 
> You can listen to the 8track playlist for Fingers of Your Fire [here](http://8tracks.com/nubianamy/the-fingers-of-your-fire) (part of the enormous FoYF one is still [on YouTube here](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLc72s_nGT2yT62f9-u6XxCAAE_VjrOVen), although people keep deleting the videos I link to!). I will also include links to all songs throughout the story, for reference.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt and Puck babysit for Cory and Duncan again and prepare for Finn's birthday. Emma goes to Columbus to the BDSM munch to meet Derek. Finn spends the day after his birthday home alone. Sarah and Puck go to dinner with their dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next three chapters were written in the month of November for the 2013 NaNoWriMo. I’m really happy to share them with you. Warnings in this chapter for discussion of discipline. 
> 
> -amy

“Angela makes good steak,” was all Puck said when Carole asked how dinner had been at Carl’s.  

Sarah finished wrapping the burrito she was making, stuck it into a sandwich bag and handed it to Kurt.  “Not as good as mine,” she said, sticking out her tongue.  “Your loss.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t trying to compare,” he said.  “I just figured, somebody invites you over for dinner, you say sure, no matter what kind of a sucky cook they are.  But it was good.”

Kurt could tell Carole was desperately curious to know more.  As far as he knew, she’d not yet been over to Carl’s house, nor had she met Angela (who Finn had originally described as “Carl’s housekeeper”).  Once it had become clear that Carole understood more about Carl’s professional world than she’d originally let on, though, Finn had let slip that Angela was really Carl’s slave -- although he hadn’t said that in front of Kurt’s dad.  Kurt thought that might be for the best.  

“What did Carl get Finn for his birthday?” Sarah wanted to know, starting on a burrito for herself.  Kurt coughed loudly.

Puck just smirked.  “Grownup stuff, squirt.  You wouldn’t want to know.”

“You mean  _sex_  stuff, and I would too.”  Sarah’s expression was withering.  “It’s not like I’m going to broadcast it on the school PA system.  Finn is my  _brother.”_   

Carole put a hand on Sarah’s shoulder.  “You don’t have to share that, Puck.”  She was smiling, but it looked a little tense.  “Sarah, Finn deserves his privacy.”

“Not from  _us,”_  she said, looking offended.  “Noah and I never had secrets from each other.”

“Yeah, well, not everybody does things that way.”  Puck poured himself some water from the sink, leaning back against the counter as he drank.  “The only reason me and Kurt know what it was is because we showed up to help him put it on.  Turns out he didn’t need our help, anyway.”  He grinned at Sarah.  “He looked happy, though, so I think it was a good birthday.”

“I think if you want any more details, you should ask Finn,” Kurt suggested.  “He can decide if it’s too personal or not.  Noah, we should get going.”

Carole gave them hugs as they walked out the door, but Sarah all but snubbed them both.  Kurt hesitated while Puck pulled on his jacket.  “She looks pretty upset.  Do you think we should wait and talk to her about this?  I can call Laurie and tell her we’ll be late.”

“Forget it,” Puck said, shaking his head.  “She’s been pissed at me for weeks, anyway.  I don’t think we’ve ever spent this much time apart, unless you count when I was in Santa Fe.  Nothing’s going to fix it until I give her some time with me.”

Kurt reached across the distance between their seats and squeezed Puck’s hand.  He thought he might be able to relate, although when it came down to it, Sarah had been depending on Noah her whole life.   _If she lost him… it would be like losing my dad,_  he thought, and shuddered to himself.  “Well, I think you should give it to her.”

“It’s weird to have other people wanting that from me.”  Puck looked a little sad.  “You, and Finn, and Adam.  My dad.  Shelby.  It’s kind of a lot.”

Kurt knew Puck must be thinking of his daughter.  Making room for her in his life would be complicated.  “You’re doing it, though,” he said.  “You are.  And we all promised to help.”

Puck smiled at him.  Kurt felt it like a physical touch; it continued to amaze him how often that happened between the two of them.  “Thanks, baby.  I’m pretty damn lucky.”

The melting snow piled in Brad’s front yard hosted two sad snow sculptures; Kurt supposed they might have been people once upon a time, or possibly animals, but now they were just lumps with smaller lumps protruding.  They hadn’t even gotten to the front porch before the door pushed open a crack and a tiny blonde head emerged around the edge, one finger in her mouth, her eyes wide and staring.  

“Hi, Cory,” Kurt called, waving.  She disappeared immediately, but five seconds later, Duncan was there in her place, pushing the storm door open and rushing out in his socks, jumping up and down.

“Did you know,” he said, with intense excitement, “that there are  _albino animals?_   And some of them are all white and some of them are yellow?  There’s even an albino  _monkey.”_

“Awesome,” Puck said, grinning.  “I have a secret way to draw albino animals.”

“No  _way,”_  Duncan squeaked.  He ran back into the house.  

“Take off your socks,” Kurt called, but Duncan was already gone.  He looked over at Puck.  “A secret way to draw --?”

“If it’s a secret, it’s way more interesting.”  Puck held his guitar away as he opened the door with his other hand.  “It’s a fact.  I don’t make this shit up.”

Brad was standing in the hallway, straightening his sleeves under his sport jacket.  He smiled at the boys.  “We’re running late, and Andi’s waiting for us at the theater, so I’ll make this quick.  They’re still finishing their dinner.  Dessert’s one thing from the cupboard or an ice cream bar, nothing after seven.  You remember the bedtime routine?”  

Puck nodded.  “Asleep by 8:30, no problem.”

Laurie came striding down the hallway, fastening her necklace with one hand and propping her phone against her ear with the other.  She’d cut her hair shorter since the last time they saw her, buzzed up the back of her neck, but it was still long on top.  Kurt admired the way the bangs rose in sculpted waves and hung artfully over her eyes.  “Toby’s not answering, Brad, can you...?”

“Got it,” Brad said, recovering the phone from her as she passed through to the kitchen.  He grimaced at it, but pressed redial and held it up to his cheek.  

“I’m done with my dinner!” Duncan shouted from the table.  

“You’re seeing Toby?”  Kurt felt a stab of envy.  “Tell him I said hello, if you don’t mind.”

“He and Will are — um.”  Laurie trailed off as she saw Brad’s frown.  “Maybe I shouldn’t talk about their relationship, since he is your teacher.”  

“That’s probably for the best.”  But it did explain why Mr. Schue had been so temperamental recently.  “Is he performing?”

“No, I don’t think he’s auditioned for anything since he moved to Ohio.  Starting a new job is a lot of work.  We’re seeing a play in Dayton.  It doesn’t have any music in it, which I think is what Toby wanted.  We’ll be back by midnight, okay?  But feel free to call if you need something; one of the three of us will be checking the cell phone.”  

“No way, Mrs. E,” Puck said firmly, giving her a little push toward the door.  “We won’t call unless the house is on fire.  Me and Kurt, we can take care of anything less of an emergency.”

Laurie laughed, picking up her bag.  “I can take a hint.”  She caught Duncan with one arm as he barreled past on his way back from depositing his dish in the sink, and planted a kiss on his head.  “Be good, my plesiosaur.”

“I’m only a plesiosaur in the bath,” Duncan informed Kurt.  “Otherwise I’m a struthiomimus.”  

“Of course,” Kurt agreed.   When Puck sat down at the coffee table with the box of craft materials, Duncan was immediately right there next to him, hovering over his arm to see the secrets of creating albino animals.  Kurt went to the table to clear the dishes, working around Cory, who was steadily taking bites of her dinner and watching him with silent eyes.  “Don’t you want to draw an albino animal too?” he asked her.

She shook her head, swallowing her bite before she spoke, matter-of-factly.  “They scare me.”

He thought for a moment.  “Noah tells me you’re a very good reader.  Would you like to read me a story?”

The head-shake was more emphatic this time, though she didn’t appear upset by the question.  “The Cory Story,” she said.

“What’s the Cory Story?” asked Kurt. 

Puck called from across the room.  “At bedtime.  But first you owe me, Cory.  One picture for Finn.  It’s his birthday.”

While Puck and Duncan produced albino animal pictures out of thin air using a white crayon and a wash of watercolors, Kurt and Cory loaded the dishwasher in companionable silence.  Afterwards, she sat down at the table without complaint, reaching for a blank piece of paper and drawing a careful circle.  

“Finn’s your daddy?” she asked, her little three-year-old voice serious.  Kurt felt his cheeks go pink.

“He’s my boyfriend,” he corrected.  “And Noah’s — Puck’s.”

She furrowed her eyebrows as she added lines under the circle, emanating downward.  “So he’s having a birthday party with his daddy?”

“Kind of,” Puck said cheerfully.  “C’mon, Duncan, let’s hang these up over the sink to dry.”  Kurt gave him a discouraging look as he walked by, and he paused, looking suddenly uncertain.  “What?”

“You shouldn’t confuse her,” he said.  

“I’m not!” Puck protested.  “Cory’s the one who set me straight about my family.  She knows what she’s talking about.  If anybody’s Finn’s daddy, it’s Carl.”

“He doesn’t  _have_  a daddy,” Kurt replied.  Then he stopped, watching Cory’s face change from placid to horrified in three seconds.  He hastened to explain, “I mean — he did have a daddy, when he was a baby, but —“

“You’re making it worse,” Puck murmured.  He knelt down next to Cory, taking the crayon from her limp hand and setting it on the table.  “Finn’s almost a grown-up.  He’s got lots and lots of people, almost as many as me.  You don’t have to worry about him.”

“But he needs a  _daddy,”_  Cory said, almost crying.  

Puck shrugged.  “Well, remember, I don’t really have a daddy either.”  He said this casually, but Kurt could see his face contract a little, closing down.  Kurt went over beside him, putting both arms on his shoulders from behind, and felt him relax somewhat.  Puck took a few long breaths before adding, “At least, the guy who  _was_  my daddy isn’t so nice.”

Duncan looked at him.  “Did he take your Halloween candy?  Because that’s not nice.”

“Actually, he never did that.”  Puck chuckled.  “So maybe he’s not so bad after all?”

“He could say sorry,” Duncan advised, picking a blue crayon from the pile and attempting to color on Cory’s drawing.  She firmly pushed his hand out of the way.  “You’re supposed to say you’re sorry when you aren’t nice to somebody.”

Kurt gave Puck’s shoulders a little squeeze.  “That’s good advice.”  

Puck reached over and took a blank sheet of paper and slid it in front of Duncan’s questing crayon.  “Yeah, I did that once when I was mean to Finn, and it turned out pretty good.  I don’t think my daddy would say sorry, exactly, but he’s trying to be nicer.  He’s meeting me and my sister for dinner on Sunday.”  

“Do you get to have dessert?”  While Cory added a few more careful dots and lines to her drawing, Duncan already had a blue dinosaur outlined on the paper.  He had a good eye, all the limbs proportional to one another.  “I think if he gives you dessert, that’s kind of like saying sorry.”

Puck glanced up at Kurt.  “Maybe.”  He tapped the picture Cory had drawn.  She was adding the letters of her name at the top, all piled up on top of one another.  “Is this Finn?  Do you want me to tell you the letters and you can write his name, too?”

She wrote F-I-N-N with the same care she’d drawn the circles and lines of the figure, but she told him, “It’s not Finn.”

“Who is it, then?”

She reached out and poked Puck’s sternum with a tiny finger.  “Your baby.”

“My —?”  Puck stared at her, speechless. 

“She’s not borned yet,” Cory told Kurt.  Kurt pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh, and nodded.

While they herded the kids upstairs to the bathroom to brush their teeth, Kurt asked Puck under his breath, “Did you tell her about the baby?  I mean, you must have, of course.”

“Yeah, I did,” Puck murmured,  “but — I didn’t think she’d remember that I said it used to be Finn’s baby.”

Kurt watched the two of them jockeying for a turn on the stepstool in front of the sink.  “Maybe she just knew it was yours, and that would be enough for it to be important to him.”

There were no major crises related to tooth-brushing or face-washing, and they still had a good twenty minutes by the time the kids crawled into their little beds.  Cory sat up, her hands grasping the hem of her blanket.  

“Cory Story,” she said, bouncing impatiently.

Puck grinned, sitting on the edge of her bed.  Duncan attempted to get out of his own bed and join Cory, but Kurt managed to convince him to stay in his own, taking a seat next to him.  

“Okay,” he said, looking up at the ceiling, “where were we?  I can’t remember.”

“The  _balloon ride,”_  she hissed.

“To escape from the dastardly pirates,” Duncan added, with relish.

Kurt listened with astonishment as Puck launched into an intricate adventure story, starring Cory as the fearless heroine.  It was rife with violence and outrageously racist references, but Kurt couldn’t bring himself to interrupt.  There were zero princesses, but plenty of action, narrow escapes and satisfyingly scary villains.  Cory looked rather smug by the time Puck reached out to turn off the light.  

“More!” Duncan shouted, and Kurt shushed him with a hand on his shoulder.   

“Next time,” Puck promised.  “If you talk with the lights out, it ruins the effect. I’ll play something, though, as long as you’re quiet.”  He tuned his guitar while the kids waited, then looked at Kurt.  “Any requests?”

Kurt hesitated before suggesting, “The — the song.  The one you wrote for me and —“

Even in the dim room, Kurt could see the expression on Puck’s face.  It was not unlike the one on Cory’s at dinner when she’d been made to eat her broccoli.  “I can sing actual  _good_  songs, you know.”

“Noah, it’s very good.  And I’ve never heard you sing it in person.  And you asked if I had a request.”

“That’s fair,” Duncan agreed, before retreating back into obedient silence.

Puck glared at the floor.  “I don’t even know if I remember the chords.”  

“ _Noah.”_

“Is he in trouble?” Duncan asked curiously.

“Okay, okay.”  Puck strummed, letting out a dramatic sigh, and began:

 _Cool on the outside yet trembling inside_    
 _Wanting to run but there's nowhere to hide_    
 _Dancing with your smile, though I drown in your eyes_    
 _Can't resist or ignore, however I try_

 _Leading me to ecstasy while leading me astray_    
 _Thought I'd lost all direction when you showed me the way_    
 _I convince myself I shouldn't then my soul says I should_    
 _This twisting romance will come to no good_

Puck, who clearly remembered every word, vamped for a while after the second verse.  After a few seconds, Kurt realized why.  

“The part Mercedes sang,” he said.  Puck nodded, looking away.

“The descant.”

“I can sing it,” offered Kurt.  

Puck stared at him, looking overwhelmed.  “I don’t know if…” he started, but Kurt leaned in and kissed his head, and he sighed and hunched over the guitar.  “Okay.”

Kurt had listened to the recording Puck had made for him enough times to know the whole thing by heart.  As he sang the soaring notes of the descant, Puck watched him, almost appearing to be in pain.  Kurt felt a shiver travel down his spine into his lower back and tried to remain on key.

 _Sing our song,_    
 _you are music inside me._    
 _Your voice rising, reaching,_    
 _notes falling_    
 _like a bead of sweat_    
 _dripping down my neck._    
 _Your melody burns deep_    
 _into my soul;_    
 _only music exists._    
 _Sing to me._

“Pretty,” Cory whispered.  Puck swiped at his face with his shoulder, still playing.

“Now we sing them together,” said Kurt.

Puck’s breathing was ragged, but he nodded, and he sang the third verse as they began simultaneously:

 _I gasp for breath from your sensuous touch_    
 _the explosion of uncertainty is hurting too much_    
 _The strangest sensation, how odd is this notion_    
 _That one kiss could be full of such fear and emotion_

 _These feelings aren't right, all I know is they're true_    
 _I'm a f —“_

Puck broke off the verse, his voice cracking on the words  _fallen angel._

“Shit,” he sighed.  “I can’t.  I’m sorry, baby.”

The kids didn’t react to Puck’s curse.  Kurt was aware that they’d fallen asleep, but his attention was on Puck.  He knelt down in front of him, just as Puck had done with Cory, and stroked the tears away from his face.

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” he said.  

Puck shook his head, the words tumbling out of his mouth at once.  “I want to sing it.  It’s just — it still feels weird, that I wrote it for you and Finn, and then everything kind of went to shit?  Like, it’s… it’s bad luck, or something.  Things are so good now, and I don’t want them to go back the way they were, and… and I think that’s just how my life is, that things can’t ever stay good for very long?  Because maybe I don’t deserve anything better.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Kurt said, “no, no, that’s not true at all.”  He took Puck’s guitar out of his hands and set it on the bed next to sleeping Cory, then wrapped him up in his arms.  He felt Puck’s tense muscles, the way his whole body was shaking, and kissed his neck.  “You deserve — everything.  A good life.  Just as much as anyone does.”

“I don’t know if anybody deserves happiness,” Puck said, his voice low.  “Some people get it and some people don’t, and that’s just the way it is.”

“Well, I’m not saying you’ll ever get everything you want, but…”  He kissed him again.  “You have a lot of people who are motivated to take care of you.”

That made him smile.  “That’s pretty fucking amazing,” he agreed.  “I don’t know if I can trust that, though.”

Kurt leaned back to regard him.  “You don’t trust me?”

“I trust  _you,”_ Puck assured him.  “I just don’t trust that things might not change.  Look at what happened with Adam.  Nobody expected him to come into the picture.  And Carl?  Who knows who else might come along?”

“Yeah, and do you notice that we’re still here?”  Kurt smiled.  “The three of us.  Look what we’ve been through, and look where we are now.  You think anything’s going to get between us after all of that?”

Puck dropped his eyes.  “Not even a kid?”

“Not if she’s  _your_  kid.  Okay, so I might be a little terrified, but that never stopped us for long, did it?”

Kurt felt Puck’s shrug, heard his sigh, but his body was relaxed again, and Kurt knew it was going to be okay.  He leaned in close to Puck’s ear.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” he whispered.  Puck shivered.

“Me, too,” he whispered back.

They called Adam while sitting on the couch, setting the phone between the two of them on speakerphone, listening to him talk about his birthday party at the Mondrian Hotel and his upcoming concert at the end of the month in Indio, California.  

“This’ll be my first public concert since Idol,” he said, sounding excited, “although Ms. Riordan also suggested I might give a private house concert at Tessera, when we’re there over Valentine’s Day.”  

“Yes, please,” Kurt exclaimed, grinning at Puck.  “Watching your videos is nice, but it’s definitely not the same as a live show.”

“And I’ll be expecting some reciprocal performances, okay?  From all of you.”

Puck chuckled.  “Yeah, well, if there’s anything there’s no shortage of around here, it’s musicians.  I think we’ll be able to deliver.”

Laurie, Brad and Andi stumbled in just after midnight, smiling tiredly at Cory’s picture of Puck’s “unborned” daughter.  

“She’s been asking more questions about where the babies  _go_  when they are born,” Andi said, handing a couple folded twenties to Kurt.  “I think I’m going to have to get her some books.”

Kurt handed the folded twenties back to Puck when they got into the Navigator.  Puck stared at them.  

“Half for you, baby?” he said.

Kurt shook his head.  “You did easily more than half the work.  And I don’t exactly have to pay for my own transportation or food.  I’d feel better if you took it.”

“Hardly felt like work,” Puck said.  Kurt smiled, gazing at the drawing Puck clutched in both hands.

“That’s why you’re going to be a good papa.”

* * *

Emma sat in her driveway on Saturday morning for over fifteen minutes, taking little encouraging breaths and gripping the steering wheel with both hands.  _Yes, you locked the door.  Yes, you have enough gas in the tank.  Yes, you brushed your teeth, twice.  Yes, you have the directions printed out and also programmed into your GPS._ She glanced into the rear view mirror, even though the car wasn’t moving.  

This was just ordinary anxiety, she was pretty certain.  The chance of it getting better if she gave up and waited another month to make the drive to Columbus was slim.  There was nothing inherently scary about meeting a group of new people.  The man named Derek would be there, and he’d promised not to be awful to her, so that was one person on her side, already.  She was starting to get lightheaded from all the breathing.  

She hadn’t been certain about how to dress.  What  _did_  one wear to a gathering of people who hit one another for fun?  That was simplistic, of course, but she’d been thinking about it almost nonstop for several days and she still hadn’t come to any reasonable conclusion.  In the end, she’d decided on wearing something that made her feel good about herself.  This weekend, it was her favorite white sheath dress and a baby blue cardigan with pointelle sleeves.  Something about pointelle sleeves in an unfamiliar situation made everything a little more okay.  The heels of her shoes kept getting stuck in the floor mat of her car, but she straightened her shoulders and turned the ignition anyway.  She could do this.

The two hour drive gave Emma plenty of time to think about the phone call she’d had with Toby.  It had been bothering her, that Toby still hadn’t spoken with Will -- until Toby described the person he’d found when he’d dropped by, unannounced.  

“She was definitely in his bed,” he’d said, “holding his hand, wearing lingerie.  I don’t see how that could really be anything other than what it looked like.”  

Somehow that felt different from finding out that Will had a man like Toby in his life.  Emma had no claim on Will, she knew that, but she’d  _thought_  she was his friend.  If that hadn’t been April Rhodes in his bed, she’d eat her hat.  Will could have told Emma about April, and she would have listened -- with distaste, perhaps, but she would have accepted it, because that’s what friends did.  As it was, she was hurt that he thought so little of her to keep it a secret.

It also gave her a possible out.  Maybe, if Will wasn’t going to talk to her about his love life, she didn’t have to talk to him about therapy.  Or whatever this turned out to be.  It was still possible she would get there, walk in the door of the coffee shop, take one look at them, and turn right around and walk back out.  

But that’s not what happened when Emma got to Java the Hut.  What happened was she walked through the door and nearly ran into Lauren Zizes. 

“Oh!”  Emma put a hand to her chest, clutching her purse.  “What a… nice surprise.  Lauren.”

“Ms. P.”  Lauren looked at Emma curiously.  “What are you doing here?”

“Mmm,” Emma said, glancing around with desperation.  “I — um.  I heard it’s a good place for a latte.”

“Actually, their coffee kind of sucks, but I wouldn’t tell Mistress Tib that.  Either way, it’s a long drive from Lima for coffee.”  She nodded at the stage.  “If you’re here for the open mic, that starts in about a half hour.”

“Is that why you’re here?”  Emma was a little ashamed of herself for making the assumption that Lauren wasn’t the kind of girl who’d want to get up on stage and perform.  But Lauren rolled her eyes.

“Hardly.  I’m here for the BDSM munch.”

As far as defining moments went, Emma thought later, this might have been in the top ten of her life.  If she’d laughed lightly and said,  _Oh, isn’t that nice,_  and stayed long enough to have a mediocre latte, then driven back to Lima, her life would very likely have turned out differently. 

She gathered her courage, smiled, exhaled and told Lauren, “What a coincidence.  So am I.”

“No way.”  Lauren actually looked impressed, which was an expression Emma thought she might not have ever seen on her face before.  “This is your first time?  I haven’t seen you here before, and I come most weekends.”

“No, no, this is… an information-gathering occasion.  I’m new to… all of this.  But I was referred here by a gentleman, um — Derek?”  She looked around, but from what she could tell, no one matching his description was in the coffee house.  There was a lovely curly-haired boy sitting with a guitar case in one corner by himself, but he was definitely too young to be Derek.  

Lauren grinned.  “He’s our only pro.  The rest of us do it for fun.  He’s not here yet, but he usually doesn’t show up after the open mic is over, anyway.  C’mon, I’ll introduce you to Mistress Tib.”

The woman in question seemed to be the one standing behind the counter, an African-American bearing abundant dreadlocks and a sour expression.  She gave Emma a shrewd once-over when Lauren said, “She wants a latte.”

“Please,” Emma added.  She held out her hand for five or six awkward seconds before it became clear that Mistress Tib was not going to shake it.  “A small, decaf, please.”

Mistress Tib definitely looked skeptical that Emma was in the right place, but Lauren did not seem deterred by this.  “She’s here for the munch, coming to check it out.  She talked to Derek.”

“Welcome,” Mistress Tib said, her voice as smooth as the latte she slid across the counter toward Emma.  “What should we call you?  Most attendees go by a pseudonym, to provide an added layer of comfort in anonymity.”

Emma had thought about this already.  “I think I would prefer to be called Jane?”  

It was for plain Jane, as she’d always considered herself to be, but also for that author who’d written the books that had moved her as a young woman, the ones that made her believe in the power of love to change the world.  Even now, she hadn’t given up on that idea.  Mistress Tib just nodded, accepting it. 

“What should I call you?” she asked Lauren, as they walked past the restrooms into a smaller room in the back.

“Lauren,” she said.  “I ain’t got nothing to hide.  My parents know what I’m doing here; they’re cool.”

Emma could not imagine herself having the courage to tell her own parents about something like this.  But surveying the diversity of faces seated at the table made her feel more at ease.  She was not the oldest one in the room by a long shot, nor was she the only one dressed in ordinary professional garb.  There were three men and two other women, all wearing welcoming expressions.  

“This is Jane,” said Mistress Tib.  “Treat her nice; she’s new.  I’ll be in to join you once Wendy takes over behind the counter.  Go ahead and begin introductions without me.  We’ll go back around and give the whole schpiel, how you got involved in the scene, once she knows the rules.”

Each person spent a few moments introducing him or herself, just providing names, most of them obviously made-up.  A woman with short curly hair, her build similar to Ken’s, called herself “Six.”  

“It’s a reference,” she said, her eyes twinkling.  “In the age-old tradition of doling out discipline at school, headmasters would give ‘six of the best.’  The cane’s my specialty — but only when they really need it.”  She broke off a piece of the cake donut on the plate in front of her and munched, watching Emma.  “Plus, 666 is the number of the beast.”

That didn’t seem to make any sense to Emma, but she nodded, trying to smile.  Six’s arm was easily as thick as any bodybuilder she knew.  Her, wielding a cane, would be a scary thing to witness.  By the time they’d come back around to the beginning, Mistress Tib had returned, holding a mug of tea.

“So the rules for this group are simple,” she said to Emma.  “We hold strict confidentiality.  Everything that’s said in this room stays here, even if you’re talking to someone who normally attends and is not here.  We don’t share names.  If you recognize someone in the store or on the street, be respectful of their privacy and don’t mention where you met them.”

Emma nodded, sipping her latte.  It was perfectly delicious.

“The purpose of the group is to give us all a place to talk freely about our experiences in the scene — that’s anything having to do with bondage, discipline, domination/submission and sadism/masochism.  All questions are welcome.  Everybody’s experience of the scene is different, but try to keep your stories brief and anonymous.  And keep an open mind.  If you’re feeling triggered, you have the right to walk away or ask a person to stop, but that’s your responsibility.”  Mistress Tib nodded at Lauren.  “We sometimes have younger people join us, but it’s not our practice to treat them differently.  Just keep in mind that some of our attendees are underage.”

“Hey, I’m legal in Ohio,” Lauren offered, waving her fingers.  Mistress Tib didn’t smile, but Emma suspected she didn’t do that often anyway.  She turned back to face Emma.

“Do you agree to these rules?”

“I — yes.”  Emma was startled at her directness, but she nodded.  “That all seems reasonable to me.  Although I’m not even certain where to begin with my questions.  I’m here to listen, mostly.  Thank you for letting me join you.”

“We all start somewhere,” said Six.  Her smile was ready and warm.  “You don’t have to be embarrassed if there’s something you don’t know.”

Emma laughed.  “Try everything?”

They went back around again, telling their stories.  Emma learned that Lauren had discovered “the scene” two years ago and had convinced her father to drive her to the munch in Cincinnati, before she’d learned about the one in Columbus.  “Once he was convinced they weren’t a bunch of axe murderers,” she said, “he was okay with dropping me off here and hanging out at the bookstore all afternoon.  Now I have my license and I can drive down on my own.”

Mistress Tib talked about the scene in Atlanta, where she was from.  “My twin sister thought I was crazy, until she moved to New York City.  Now I think she name-drops me more than the other way around.  It’s very chic these days to be into BDSM.”  She huffed, scowling.  “Like being fashionable had anything to do with why I did it.  She drives me batshit.”

While Tib’s perspective on the scene seemed to encompass romantic relationships, Six made it clear that her involvement was strictly nonsexual.  “I’m a mentor to these boys,” she explained. “It’s not an equal relationship.  I’m providing them discipline.  I think if I were going to have a romance with someone, I’d want it to be more equal.”

Even just listening was a little overwhelming.  Emma felt like she should be taking notes, but she suspected that might be more intrusive than this group of people wanted.  She was impressed at how much thought had gone into their practices, even the ones that she would have labeled as strange or distasteful.  When she worked up the nerve to ask one of the men, “Can you tell me why you chose those particular piercings?” the answer turned out not to be as disgusting as she’d feared, and was even a little sweet.

About forty-five minutes into the conversation, the door opened and a shorter, dark-haired man in a gray shirt walked in.  His face lit up in a smile when he saw her, and he came right over to her, offering his hand.

“I’m really glad you made it,” he said. 

 _Devastatingly handsome doesn’t begin to cover it,_  Emma thought, and giggled nervously as she accepted his handshake.  “I’m - Jane.”

“Of course you are,” he said, pulling up a chair next to her.  “I’m Derek.  What are we talking about?”

“We’re giving Jane our personal stories,” Six told him.  He rubbed his chin, considering.

“Well, if I can work backwards, right now I’m doing this professionally — providing clients with negotiated services.  Legally, it’s a murky area, so I have a very good lawyer to help me protect myself and my clients.  I’m a pro Dom, and my partner works with the clients who require a sub.  We’ve been doing this together for about a decade, in a variety of locations.  I think I always expected we’d end up in a bigger city, but…”  He shrugged.  “Here we are.”

“Ohio’s full of people who need a good spanking,” Mistress Tib murmured, and Six nearly sprayed her coffee across the table.  Derek just grinned.

“No doubt.  But long before I began this, I developed a personal relationship with a pro Domme who was experienced with both the business details and the subtleties of Topping multiple clients at once.  It can be intense.  She taught me a lot.”  His blue eyes were thoughtful.  “It took me a long time before I had the confidence to think I could handle it.  But I get so much out of it.  When my other career is stressful or tedious, it’s the energy I get from my clients that helps me keep going.”

Emma found herself hanging on Derek’s words like they were miraculous treasures.  In a way, she thought they might be.  But she had to be sure.  

After the two hours were up and the group began to disperse, she turned to him, hesitating.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” he nodded, leaning in closer.  She leaned in, too, dropping her voice.

“You said you get something out of — what was it you said? Providing your clients with… with negotiated services.”  She took a measured breath.  “Do you think your clients get something out of it, too?”

He nodded.  “That’s the idea.  Figuring out what each client needs is part of the experience.  Deciding how to get there is the other part.”

Derek’s close attention was making it a little hard to focus.  She gazed into his eyes.  “And what I — what the paper talked about.  The one I emailed you about.  Do you think you can…?  That is, what I’m asking is, have you ever…”

“I think,” he said quietly, touching her hand, and she fell silent, staring at him.  “I think we should set up an appointment and have a conversation about all of this.  Figuring out the specifics, that can happen in the office.  Here, we can just relax and not worry about that.  All right?”

His calm certainty put a kind of spell over her, and she found herself nodding.  He smiled approval.  It made her flush.  

“You’re very kind to take time out of your Saturday to talk about something you do professionally,” she said.  “I don’t know if I’d want to do that.  I depend on my weekends to give me a little relief.”

“Well.  This is my entertainment, too.”  He gestured at the door, through which the rest of the coffee house hummed with activity.  “We come here on Saturdays to make music, me and my boy.  He’s not here today.”

“Your… boy.”  Emma thought she had a vague understanding, from her reading earlier that week, of what that term meant in this context.  

“Yeah.  I don’t know if he even realizes this group meets here.  All his attention’s been on that stage.  That’s probably just as well.”  Derek’s face was soft, his own focus elsewhere.  

“Where is he today?” she asked.

“He’s home celebrating his birthday.  I dropped him off at home on my way here.”  When he turned back to her, she could see the light shining in his eyes, and she had to look away, lest she forget how to breathe.  

“He means a lot to you.”

Derek didn’t speak, but Emma didn’t need words from him to convey what she saw on his face.  He just stood there, and she stayed close.  She felt like, maybe, if she held still in that light long enough, she would be changed by it, absolved of past misdeeds.  She reached for his arm, but couldn’t quite bring herself to touch him.

Mistress Tib ducked in around the frame of the door. “Patrick’s on, Derek.”

Derek blinked, taking a few steps toward Mistress Tib.  Then he paused and held out his hand toward Emma.  “Want to see an incredibly talented young man?”

She didn’t think as she placed her fingers in his.  Derek’s hand was warm and clean and pulled her gently toward the other room, and it felt like the easiest thing to follow him.  Even the noise of the espresso machine didn’t distract her.  She didn’t have to  _think_  about it, and wasn’t that — effortless?  Like she was simply falling.  Like she had no choice but to let it happen.  She smiled.

It was the curly-haired boy she’d seen earlier.  Now he was on stage, his hands on his guitar moving swiftly and surely.  He leaned in against the microphone propped beside him, singing with joyous abandon: 

[ _https://soundcloud.com/hiddentrackmusic/02-in-your-light_ ](https://soundcloud.com/hiddentrackmusic/02-in-your-light)

_Get up in the morning_  
 _I can't keep it in_  
 _I'm falling all over myself  
_ _Like I could jump out of my skin_

 _Wanna break the door down_  
 _Just to greet the day_  
 _‘Cause there ain't nothing that's more certain  
_ _To keep my blues away_

 _And I say_  
 _(La la, hey hey)_  
 _And I say  
_ _(La la, hey hey)_

 _And it can settle the sadness  
_ _And the voices in my head  
_ _When I'm in the glow of the warmth you throw  
_ _I can put all that to bed_  

 _In your light, just when I'm in your light  
_ _And I won't get by if you take that light away_

The crowd was clapping along, tapping the tables, caught up in the boy’s energy and the sheer brilliant power of his voice.  Emma was not immune to it either, and she laughed aloud, still holding Derek’s hand.

 _And when you're smiling on me_  
 _That is all I need_  
 _To put behind me all my worry  
_ _And life's complexities_

 _It may be only a moment_  
 _But the world just falls away_  
 _And I forget myself and everything else  
_ _That depressed me yesterday_

 _And I can sing  
_ _(La la, hey hey)  
_ _Yeah I sing  
_ _(La la, hey hey)_  

 _When I'm in your light  
_ _Nothing brings me down  
_ _If only I could always feel just as I do right now  
_ _When I'm in your light, just when I'm in your light  
_ _And I won't get by if you take that light away_  

 _When I'm in your light_  
 _All of this is clear_  
 _If only I could always be just as I am right here_  
 _In your light, just when I'm in your light_  
 _And I won't get by if you take that light away  
_ _No I won't get by if you take that light away_

Derek looked proud, watching the boy on stage.  “Isn’t he something else?”

“He really is,” she agreed.  “Thank you.  I can see why you come here to make music.”

Emma paused at the counter on the way back to get her purse, where Mistress Tib had returned to filling coffee orders.  “Thank you.  The latte was very good, and I — I learned so much.”

Tib didn’t smile, and although Emma didn’t expect one, she still felt a prickle of unease.  

“I imagine we’ll see you again, if Derek doesn’t answer all your questions.”

“Thank you,” she said again, feeling the inadequacy of her words, but they were all she had.  She gave Mistress Tib a little wave.  

The rest of the group had departed, but Derek caught up with her in the parking lot as she walked toward her car, holding a bag.  

“I brought some books for you,” he said.  “They might answer some of your questions.  But I still think it would be good if we set up that meeting soon.”

“Yes, please.”  She did not give in to the urge to open the bag and look at them right there.  “It was very good to meet you, Derek.”

“Only here.”  He put his hands in his pockets, looking earnest.  “At the office, you’ll call me Dr. Howell.   I put my card in the first book.  Call Monday morning and my office staff will set up the appointment.”

“I will,” she promised.  “And I’ll read these, and… thank you.”

She didn’t know exactly why she felt so grateful, but the day had been unexpectedly lovely.  The drive home felt almost as effortless as it had been to take Derek’s hand.  He was so handsome, it was true, but that wasn’t what was causing her to feel lighter, more free, as she made her way back up US-33 toward Lima.  She wondered what magic had been in his hands to lift the weight she’d been carrying.

* * *

Spending Friday night at Carl’s had been amazing.  It had been their first sleepover.  Carl had gotten up long before Finn, but he’d come back to bed upon Finn’s awakening, and that had been hot and memorable.  

But there was nothing Finn could compare to waking up on Sunday morning in his own bed and seeing the hickory box sitting on his dresser.  It was the most indescribable combination of anticipation, disbelief and utter gratitude.  

 _Carl made that for me_ , he thought, struggling to keep his breathing even _._   He wanted to get out of bed just to touch the silky smooth wood, but that thought made him remember what was  _inside_  the box, and that was enough of a turn-on that he decided he’d just stay in bed for another couple minutes.  He’d made reasonable progress toward his goal, stroking himself quickly to mental images of Puck, cuffed and kneeling, and Kurt crouching over him, when his phone buzzed with a text.

He glanced at it just briefly, but that was enough for him to see that it was from Carl.  With an effort, he stopped what he was doing and held the phone up to read the whole message. 

_Number one, half an hour.  Use the lube like you did before.  Insert it before you eat your breakfast and wear it while you sit at the table._

Finn gaped at the phone for about thirty seconds, feeling his ass pulse in response to the words.  The sense of unreality was abruptly upon him.  But no, this was for real.  Carl had told him he was going to do this, and -- well, unless Finn was going to complain, he  _was going to._   He typed a one-handed reply.

_Yes, sir.  May I come first?_

The answer was slow to arrive, and Finn waited, impatiently rubbing his thigh with his palm, but Carl’s response made him frown.   _That has nothing to do with this._

 _Sir,_ he typed back, feeling awkward and more than a little desperate,  _I just don’t want to do it wrong._

_If you get aroused, it’s fine, but this isn’t a substitute for me inside you.  Don’t try to pretend it is.  When I’m inside you, you’ll feel it.  Imagine that, if you like, while you’re coming, and then be a good boy and do what I told you._

That command gave him enough of a charge that he didn’t need any additional stimulation.  He finished himself off in minutes, imagining Carl’s hand on him.  Afterward, he waited until he was soft before heaving himself out of bed to lift the hickory lid on the box.  

Inserting the narrow plug couldn’t help but be an intense experience, but he was able to feel Carl’s intention.  This was  _training:_ preparation for the future.  As he settled it inside himself, squirming a little as he tried sitting on it under his clothing,  he felt echoes of that profound gratitude for Carl’s love and attention.  

 _Okay,_  he reported back.   _I’ve got it in._

_Thank you._

He wanted to call Carl, to tell him all about his birthday yesterday, and to ask him about the open mic at Irene’s.  Had Blaine been there?  Had he seemed all right, on his own?  But no other texts were forthcoming from Carl, and Finn was guessing there wouldn’t be more of them until he’d fulfilled his task.

His mother was awake and sitting at the kitchen table, Finn’s birthday presents stacked at the other end.  She nodded at them.  

“I brought them back for you,” she said.  “Well, I left half of the cookies at Burt’s, but he promised not to eat any of them.  I can’t guarantee Puck won’t do the same.”

Finn nodded, pouring himself a bowl of cereal.  He tried not to feel completely embarrassed.  He wondered what his mom would have said, if he’d explained what he was wearing at that moment.  He knew there was a good chance she would understand, but he wasn’t quite ready to be  _that_  honest with her.  

“Do you have plans for today?” she asked, but before he had time to answer, the doorbell rang.  They looked at each other quizzically.  “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.”  He set his cereal on the counter, walking out to the door, trying to think who would both be visiting on a Sunday and bothering to ring the doorbell.  He absolutely didn’t expect it to be Rachel.  “Oh — hi!” 

She smiled hesitantly, waiting on the porch as he opened the door.  “I, um, wasn’t sure if you’d be here, or…”  She gestured in another direction, obviously meaning  _at one of your multitude of boyfriends’ houses._   He found himself smiling back, feeling inexplicably giddy.  

“I’m here today.  We celebrated my birthday yesterday, and everybody’s busy today, so… I’m just hanging out at home.  There’ll probably be a marathon rewatch of season three of  _Babylon 5_  this afternoon _._ Do you want to come in?”

She looked hopeful.  “Would that be okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”  He ushered her inside, closing the door behind her.  But once that was accomplished, he had no idea what else to say.  Rachel seemed equally ill at ease.  

“Did you have a nice birthday?”

“Yeah, I did.  You should see these sparkly drum sticks that — uh.”  Finn really wasn’t sure how to work Adam into the conversation without giving something away, so he just dropped the comment, hoping Rachel wouldn’t try to pick it back up.  “Can I get you something to drink?”

They went into the kitchen where his mother was loading the dishwasher, but when she saw Rachel, she blinked a couple times, said a few pithy hellos, then made herself scarce.  Rachel accepted the club soda he handed her without comment, even though Finn knew it wasn’t her favorite flavor.  

“Can you tell me… maybe we should be really clear about why you’re here?” he asked carefully.  “I mean, it’s not like I mind, it’s just… I want to know where to start.  Where this is going.”

“Finn, I have no idea.”  She laughed, but it didn’t sound very happy.  “I didn’t want the weekend to go by without a chance to wish you a happy birthday.  You’re still my friend.”

“Even after what happened with Jesse at Rinky Dink’s?  I don’t think he likes me very much.”  

“I’m sure it’s mutual.  But that doesn’t mean  _we_  can’t be friends.  He doesn’t have any control over what I do.”  She furrowed her brow.  “What is it?  Finn, come on, just say whatever you’re thinking.  We’re not going to get very far by pretending.”

Finn fixed her with a frown.  “I’m thinking I don’t trust that guy.  I don’t think I ever will.  And I think it’s bad for Glee club to feel on edge about Jesse when we’re supposed to be all about working together.”

She sighed.  “That’s it?  You’re worried about Glee club?”

“Yeah!  Yeah, I am.  It’s made up of all the people I care about the most.”  He wasn’t going to bring up Carl.  What he’d said about Glee was close enough to the truth.  He echoed her sigh.  “I don’t know.  Life keeps getting more complicated, and… I could use something simple.  Something I can count on.”  

Rachel looked deflated.  She slid into a chair at the table, nodding at the pile of presents, topped with Burt’s tickets to the Browns’ game.  She moved them aside to touch the two Henley shirts and pair of jeans.  “Who got you these?”

“My mom — um, you might not want to —“  He reached out and hastily reclaimed the pile from her, feeling to make sure the copy of  _Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns_  was still covered by the maroon shirt.  His mom hadn’t said much about the book other than to tell all three of them that she’d gladly answer any questions, but that Carl probably knew more than she did.  That had made him blush.  

Rachel pulled her hands away, startled.  

“I won’t eat your cookies, at least,” she said.  “You get all the sweets with dairy in them.”

Finn considered the plate of frosted cookies, decorated with Winnie-the-Pooh characters on them, that Sarah had made for him.  It was startling to realize he was thinking of Sarah as  _Kurt’s sister_  as much as  _Puck’s sister_  these days.  “I’m not going to argue with that.”  He shook his head slowly.  “So, what, you’re just here to… to say happy birthday and then leave?  What the hell is that for?”

She huffed at him.  “It’s what you  _do,_  Finn, on somebody’s birthday.”

“Who says?” he demanded.  “Exactly who are you trying to impress?  I think I’m already breaking most of the rules about — about  _everything.”_ He stared hard at her.  “You’re my friend, but you’re never going to be just that.  I don’t think we can expect to pretend that’s all we are.”

Her expression was full of confusion and pain.  “I can’t be your girlfriend, Finn.  I’ve got Jesse, and he’s… he’s everything to me.  I know you don’t trust him, but that doesn’t keep me from loving him.”  

“I know.  I’m not telling you not to do anything.  You don’t have to listen to me.”

It hurt to say that, to know it was true.  Rachel wasn’t his, in any sense of the word, and that… felt wrong.  It made him grit his teeth and want to do stupid stereotypical guy things to Jesse.  But he had no say at all, and he  _hated_  that.  All he could do was stand back and wait and refrain from punching Jesse in the face.

Rachel stood up, looking resigned.  “I wanted to give you this.  Because it’s been sitting on my dresser since before we were dating, and now I don’t think I can let it sit there any longer.  It’s for you.”  She gave him one more longing glance.  “Happy birthday, Finn.”

He held onto the wrapped package in both hands until she’d opened and closed the front door.  Then he set it in the center of the table, picked up the phone and called Kurt.

“Rachel just left,” he said. 

_“You didn’t let her break up with you again, did you?  Oh, wait, did I just say that aloud?”_

Finn leaned forward, his head in one hand, and sighed heavily, feeling the tension in his shoulders slowly dissipate.  “She wanted to wish me happy birthday.  But I’m — I was —“

_“What, Finn?”_

He glanced over his shoulder, though his mother was nowhere to be seen, and murmured, “I’m wearing one of Carl’s birthday presents.”

There was a pause, followed by a muffled spate of hysterical laughter, coupled with splashing.

“Kurt?  Where  _are_ you?”

 _“I’m in the bath.  Finn.”_   Kurt made an heroic attempt to control his giggles.  _“Please tell me she didn’t make a comment about you being a tight-ass.”_

“ _Kurt,”_  he protested, then gave up and snickered.  Listening to Kurt losing it over the phone was almost the funniest thing he’d ever heard.  “Well, I’m glad to know I can entertain you, at least.”

_“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at Ms. Rachel Berry’s face, the first time she hears you say the words 'butt plug' in her presence.”_

“Trust me, she will  _never_  hear them from me.”  He shook his head.  “I knew I could count on you to make me feel better.”

 _“I’m glad I can do that.  Noah and Sarah are having dinner with their father tonight.  If you feel like company…”_   Kurt trailed off.

Finn was silent for long enough that he knew Kurt was going to feel hurt, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to respond.  He couldn’t say  _come over,_  because he was pretty sure his mom would object if he tried to invite Kurt to the house again.  He could say  _I’ll come over there,_  but then he was going to run into all the issues that had driven him to move back home in the first place.  

“Maybe later,” Finn said at last.  “Thanks.”

That was awkward, but at least it was honest, and they’d promised they would do that much for one another.  Later, he could put on the sweater Kurt had bought him, which rivaled the one his mom had gotten him for sheer gayness, and bike over to Kurt’s house.   _You can wear it for Carl,_  Kurt had said, but he suspected Kurt really wanted him to wear it for him, and that he would do gladly.  

Puck’s present had been a surprise.  He’d made him a cake like Adam’s, not as tall but just as fancy.  It turned out that the flexible candy frosting that covered the cake looked better than it tasted, but Finn still appreciated the effort.  And he’d brought a picture from Brad’s house, a scribbly drawing from Cory with FINN written in big block letters.

But there’d been something else, something he’d handed him privately in the hallway, not bothering to wrap it: a game piece from Chutes and Ladders.  Finn hadn’t realized its significance at first, thinking it might be a joke, but then he’d remembered.  

“Is this from your house?”

Puck had nodded.  “When Meemee was going through the stuff in the attic, before the bank took it, I asked him to find this.”  

“I wanted to be the boy piece.”  Finn had held it tightly.  “We played it with Sarah, the first time I came over to your house.”

“Yeah,” Puck had said, grinning.  “You remembered.”

Finn had to kiss him a lot up against the wall at that point, which wasn’t really a problem for either one of them.  It felt like an incredible freedom, to be able to do that just because he wanted to — to be sure that Puck wanted it as much as he did. 

He’d shown Kurt the game piece that night, all three of them in Kurt’s too-small bed, and Kurt had done his share of holding Puck down and kissing him hard.  Once everyone was satisfied, they’d spent a long time telling stories about their childhood.  Kurt listened, mostly, asking questions.  Finn wasn’t sure if Kurt was upset or sad or jealous by what they were talking about, but it hadn’t seemed to interfere with Kurt’s enjoyment of their evening together, so he hadn’t pushed it.  

When Puck had woken up in the middle of the night crying, he’d sought out Finn’s arms, and that was unusual enough for Finn to wonder about it.  He’d waited until Puck had calmed, holding him steady and whispering gentle words into his ear, before asking what the dream had been about.

“My daughter,” Puck had said, his voice hoarse, the words nearly swallowed by the night.  “The picture Cory made you, that’s her.”

“Oh.”  Finn felt a little stupid for not asking earlier.  He stroked Puck’s head, feeling how tense he still was.  Puck was going on.

“I know things are already so fucking complicated, and I’m thinking — she’s going to be a lot of work.”

“Babies are like that.”  Kurt kissed his cheek on the other side.  “We’ve already agreed to help.”

“Yeah…”  He shifted restlessly in Finn’s arms.  Finn just held him tighter while his movements became more of a struggle.  He pressed his lips to Puck’s ear.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to spank you first?”

Puck groaned under his breath, hiding his head.  That answered that question.  Finn rolled him over onto his stomach, kneeling over him.  He couldn’t get a very effective angle with his hand at this close quarters, but Kurt reached into the drawer beside his bed and found the leather paddle Adam had sent, placing it into Finn’s hand.  He had to pause for a moment, not at all sure about using Adam’s tool but also not wanting to second-guess Kurt’s decision in front of Puck.  He wished he could see Kurt’s expression in the dark.

“It’s okay,” Kurt said quietly.  “He needs it.  Adam would agree.”

Finn made it quick and hard, not listening too hard to Puck’s noises, but feeling the way his body reacted under his other hand.  He grew more tense, at first, but then there was a gradual release, during which Puck’s breathing grew more even.  Tonight he didn’t cry, but he didn’t do that every time.  Eventually Finn stopped, resting a hand on the curve of Puck’s ass, feeling the heat the paddle had left behind.

“Not calling yellow?” he said. 

Puck stirred, slowly.  He raised himself up on his hands and knees, dropping his face down again to rest on his folded arms.  

“More.  Please.”

Kurt reached across for Finn’s head, pulling him into a gentle kiss.  He didn’t say any words, but that was all right.  Finn found the space on Puck’s back again with his hand, waited until he breathed out, and resumed, focusing on that single space where the crease of his ass met his thigh.  Puck responded with desperate noises. 

“You ready to talk yet?” Finn asked again.  “What are you afraid of?”

“She’s my daughter,” he said, the strain evident in his voice.  “But you thought — you thought she was yours.”

“I did.”  It still hurt a little, but Finn had come to terms with it.  He wasn’t going to begrudge Puck his daughter.

Puck turned his head.  Finn could just see the curve of his jaw in the glow of Kurt’s clock.  “She could be yours.”

Finn felt his own stomach tense.  “Puck, she’s yours.”

“She could be  _ours,”_  he insisted.

Finn put the paddle down.  It didn’t feel like a conscious decision on his part; there was just no way he could keep this up if he was going to get angry at Puck.  “We’ve had this conversation, Puck.  I can’t do that.”

Puck sat up on his knees, swiveling to face them both in the dark as his voice rose.  “Don’t tell me you don’t want to have a kid.  I know you do.  You wanted this one.”

Finn kept his voice steady.  “I thought I was  _responsible_  for her.  I wouldn’t have chosen it, but if it had been true, I would have taken care of her because it would have been the right thing to do.  Just like you chose to do.  You had it right all along.”  He reached out and grasped Puck’ shoulder.  “But she’s  _not_  mine.  Maybe someday I’ll have my own kids, but this one wasn’t mine.  She’s going to have an awesome parent: you.”

Kurt took Puck’s other shoulder, wrapping him up in a hug, and Puck did shed some tears at last before they all settled back down on the bed.  But Finn found himself wide awake, buzzing with the energy of the spanking and full of fresh anxiety.  

Finn knew there wasn’t anything wrong with the idea of adopting a kid.  The parents he knew who had adopted children loved them as much as they loved their biological kids.  Burt was going to take care of Sarah, and that was great.  But that wasn’t what  _he_ wanted.  Should he feel guilty because he wanted to have his  _own_  kids?

 _She could be yours.  She could be ours._   He closed his eyes on the idea, because — because it wasn’t  _true._   He could pretend that baby growing inside Quinn was the same Thumper he’d fallen in love with, but it would be a lie, and he couldn’t feel good about a lie, no matter how appealing it might be.  It wasn’t his baby.  He might be able to love her, but it wasn’t the same as having  _his own._

There was a bigger thing that ate at him, a thing that made him feel even worse.  He knew firsthand how it had been growing up with no father.  He didn’t want to wish not having a mother on a brand-new baby.  Puck’s baby was going to have lots of people helping, sure, but only one papa, and unless Quinn decided to step up at the last minute, no mother.  What would it be like if  _he_  decided to have a baby?  Who would be the mother?  Hell, if he were gay, how could he even  _have_  a baby?  

Whatever the answer was, he wasn’t going to figure it out in the middle of the night.  He draped an arm over Kurt and Puck and tried not to think about it, but it was a long while before he got back to sleep.

* * *

Sarah wasn’t accustomed to concealing things from her brothers.  She was good at keeping secrets from everybody else — her Ma, the school, other kids — but keeping them from Timmy or Noah had never been her goal.  

There were two reasons she thought she might able to manage it this time.  One was that Noah was currently living elsewhere, which sucked — but meant she only saw him sometimes.  It was a lot easier not to say things to someone when you weren’t spending much time with them.

The other was Frances.  She’d gone to Frances with her idea as soon as she’d fleshed it out to the point that it made sense to her, then had sat her down and said, “Look, I have a project in mind, and I need you to listen to it and make sure I’m not forgetting anything really important.”  And Frances, being Frances, had nodded decisively and said, “Okay.”  She’d even listened to the entire project before offering her comments — which had consisted of grabbing Sarah’s shirt and giving her a tiny, firm shake.  

“Are you out of your  _mind?”_  

“You know the answer to that.”  Sarah reclaimed her shirt, unperturbed, and smoothed the fabric while she showed Frances her sketchbook.  “Look.  I’m not going to do this alone.  I know exactly who I need to talk to.  I just… have to be away from school for a little while in the middle of the day in order to do it.  And I need somebody to cover for me.”

Frances frowned.  “You want me to lie to the teachers for you?  I’m certain I’ve never done  _anything_  like that before.”

“Exactly.  Which is why you’d be perfect to keep attention off me.  They’d totally believe  _you_  if you said I had a bad period and was lying down in the nurse’s office.”  She considered this.  “Actually, if you don’t like the lying part, you could just tell them I had an appointment.  That would actually be true.”

“Why don’t you just tell Mr. Hummel?  He would help.  I’m sure of it.”

“Not unless he thought it was possible,” she insisted.  “I have to get everything together before I show it to him, as much of it as I can manage on my own.  I need to prove to him it can actually be done before I tell him about it.”

Frances sighed, then reluctantly shook her head.  “I don’t think I can do that, Sarah.  It’s not that I don’t — I mean, if anyone could pull this off, it’d be you, but — if I got in trouble at school, my parents might stop letting me spend time with you.  They already think you’re a bad influence on me.”

Sarah grinned as she flung an arm around Frances’ shoulder.  “I’m  _totally_  a bad influence on you.  Which is why you love me so much.  How much more interesting is your life now that we’re friends?”

“A bazillion times more interesting,” Frances admitted.  “And if there’s anything I can do to help that  _wouldn’t_  get me suspended, I’m in.”

Sarah considered this.  “How about you just let me fill you in on the latest developments as they occur?  I need a collaborator.  Somebody I can talk to.”

Frances hugged Sarah, which made her smile even bigger.  “I can definitely be that.”

She brought her sketchbook along with her when Noah came to pick her up for dinner.  He waited outside in the truck, not even bothering to come into their house to get her, so she knew he was feeling extra-shitty.  

“Where’re we eating?” she asked, buckling herself in.  “That weird Middle Eastern place?”

“It’s not weird, squirt.  At least he uses locally sourced meat.  Get that rice dish with the chicken and pinenuts if you don’t like the lamb.” 

Sarah watched his distant face, the way he held himself stiffly in the driver’s seat.  She knew exactly how he felt.  It was the kind of lonely that came from being away from the bodies who’d been part of you.  “You wanna call Adam before dinner or after?”

He gave her a quick, surprised glance, but shuttered his eyes swiftly, redirecting them to the road.  “It’s gonna have to be after.  It’s three hours earlier there.  He doesn’t have time to talk in the middle of the day, especially not when he’s totally in the middle of planning for his tour.  Seems like every day’s another meeting.”  Noah scowled, his jaw tense.  

This was one of those things that Sarah knew Kurt and Finn could fix, most of the time, and she knew they’d been together the night before, so it didn’t make sense to her that things weren’t okay.  

“So…”  She leaned back, crossing her arms.  “What kind of an asshole are you going to be tonight?”

“Same one I am every night.”  The comment was offhanded, but she wasn’t getting any kind of response from him, which meant he was already resigned to it.  She sighed, shoving his shoulder with one hand, and the contact made him startle.  That wouldn’t have happened if they’d been spending more time together.  “Hey!”

“You’re not an asshole anymore,” she reminded him.  “Kurt and Finn fixed you.  And Adam.  What the fuck’s going on?”

“It’s complicated —“

“Fuck you,” she shouted.  “We don’t  _work_ that way.  Don’t start treating me like some dumbass kid who doesn’t know you, because it’s  _not_  going to fly.”

He paused at the next intersection, breathing hard, and stared at the steering wheel.  Then he gave her an apologetic half-smile.  “Sorry.  I… miss you too.”

“Yeah.”  She waved her hand at the emergency brake.  “Do the thing you have to do.  I’m going to hug you and I don’t want to drift away into traffic.”

He did something with his feet and pulled a lever, and then he was grabbing her across the aisle.  She practically had to crawl over to his seat, but they hung on to one another, waiting for everything that had been feeling out of balance to equilibrate.  

“I hate living away from you,” she whispered.  

“Me too.”  He wiped his face on the heel of his hand.  She waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.

“So move back in already,” she tried.

“I’ve — been thinking about it.  I just don’t know what to do about the baby.”  He sat back, looking at her, already six million times more himself, even if he did look worried.  “I can’t just move into Kurt’s room.  There has to be a space where she can sleep, and where I can be too.  I know Burt said he’d give up his office —“

“He did?”  Sarah wasn’t actually surprised, but it made her smile anyway.  Tatenui  _was_  the best fucking dad.  

“Yeah, on New Year’s.  He told me he wanted me to move in, then, and that it would be better if I — if we could just use that space.  Me and her.”  He shrugged.  “I’ve never thought about a nursery before, but it seems setting one up’s, like, a lot of work.”

“Kurt’s designing my room,” she said.  “Maybe he could do the nursery too.”

Noah looked hopeful at that.  “Maybe?  It just feels overwhelming.  Looking around Kurt’s room, it’s like, how does he know where to put all the  _stuff?_ ” 

“I think he just thinks about what he uses it all for.  Like, what do you do in your space?  In your apartment, or whatever?”

Noah thought about it for a minute as he put the car back into gear.  “Well… besides the baby, I guess, there’s… the kitchen.  Which is already too small, but whatever, I can deal.  The place with the television.  I miss video games, but I don’t really miss TV.  I can play my guitar there, too.  I can be as fucking loud as I want, and not bother anybody, over at the apartment.  That might be another reason to stay there with her.”

“You can’t be at the apartment by yourself with a baby, Noah,” Sarah said.  “Social services is already going to shit a brick when they realize you’re not where you’re supposed to be.  Can’t you just tell Tatenui that you need all this stuff?”

He shook his head.  “There’s no way I can expect him to give up space for  _me_  when he’s got Kurt and you.  And Finn.”

“Finn’s not moving back in.”  She’d already talked to him about this enough times to know this was true.  “He needs more space than we’ve got.  He’d just go batshit if he had to live with Kurt all the time.”

“Maybe. But Kurt’s not doing so good without him around, either.  Did you notice?  He gets really pissy when Finn ignores him.”

“Or when his dad ignores him,” Sarah added.  She watched Noah’s expression go thoughtful.

“Huh.  I hadn’t realized that, but you’re right.”

“You get pissy, too,” she pointed out.  “Kurt handles you best, but you do better when Finn and Kurt are around.”

He gave her a sideways smile.  “I think… I think Adam handles me kind of like both of them put together.”

“Really?”  That made her smile back.  “No wonder you miss him so much.”

“I try not to think about it.”  He sighed, pulling into the parking lot.  “Truth is, squirt, I miss  _all_  of you a lot.  Living alone really blows.  I really don’t know what it would be like, trying to stuff us all into the Hummel house, but… seriously, I don’t think it could be worse than this.”

“You seem to be dealing, though.”  She eyed him, and he shrugged, looking thoughtful.

“There’s this woman.  No, don’t look at me like that.  A teacher, at Toby’s school.  Shelby.  We’ve been — I don’t know, hanging out?  At first I really thought she was going to be a total bitch, but she ended up being a lot cooler than that.”

“Not another MILF?  I thought you were done with that.”

“No, no.  She’s not.  I mean, okay, she’s hot and all, but I’m not even thinking about that.  She’s just…”  He paused, searching for the right words.  “I didn’t expect to trust her, but she’s being really careful and honest and — I’m kind of impressed.  Not too many grown-ups like that in the world, you know?”

Sarah did know.  Noah was going on, climbing out of the truck and heading toward the restaurant.  She hurried to stay beside him.  

“She’s, like, a puzzle that I’m trying to figure out.  She’s got this weird history with Carl — I don’t even know what to make of that, but I figure it’s none of my business.  She understands what we do, but she doesn’t do it herself.  And she cooks.  And she’s the Mr. Schue for Toby’s students.”

“So she’s a singer too?”  Sarah wasn’t sure she could handle having more performers around.  All that fucking drama.

“I bet she is.  I didn’t think about it, but I guess you have to be, to be a show choir director?  Whatever.”  He slowed down before they reached the door, letting out his breath.  “And there he is.  Early this time.”

They looked through the glass front of the restaurant, silently watching Aaron Puckerman fiddle with his water glass.  Sarah slipped an arm around Noah’s waist, leaning against him.  Noah reciprocated, without seeming to think about it, and she reveled in the easy contact.  

“He’s not a complete asshole,” Sarah murmured.  “Seriously.  I know he’s flaky, but that doesn’t have anything to do with how much he loves you.”

“No, maybe not,” Noah agreed.  “But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less when he stands me up.”

He sighed, closed his eyes for a long moment, then pushed his way through the door into the warmth of Lazeza.  Sarah followed behind, breathing in the scent of lentil soup and hummus, and deposited her sketchbook on the table beside her dad.  He looked up, smiling, and hugged her.

“Hey, kid.”  He kissed her hair, then held her at arm’s length.  “What’s up with those boots, anyway?”

“Your first words to me in a month are really going to be you judging my wardrobe?”  She rolled her eyes.  “Noah bought them for me in Santa Fe.  I think they’re awesome.”

“Is that right.”  Aaron looked up at Noah from his chair.  “Hey there.”

Noah lowered himself into the chair across from their dad, regarding him sourly.  “Nice of you to show up this time.”

“Hey, I told you, it wasn’t my fault.  I couldn’t get through to you.  I’m sorry I made you drive all the way out there for nothing, though.”

He stared at Aaron, then shook his head.  “You didn’t make me do anything.”

“Well, let me at least make it up to you.”  He pulled out his wallet, sliding two twenties out of the billfold, and dropped them on the table in front of Noah.  Noah swiveled his gaze to the bills on the formica.  “Just for the gas.  It’s kind of a lame apology, but it’s pretty much all I have.”

Noah continued to shake his head slowly, but he picked up the bills and tucked them into his jeans.  “Thanks.”

Aaron’s smile was reassuring.  “You just let me keep trying.”

That was the best reason Sarah had for keeping her dad in her life.  He didn’t have a whole huge lot to say that was of value to her, and some of what he said was stupid and racist and awful — but if  _she_  didn’t stick around, she didn’t think her dad would have too many other people around him who’d bother to let him keep trying.  But she could do that.  He might be hurting Noah’s feelings by letting him down, but she wasn’t offended when he did that to her.  She knew her dad was a fuck-up, and he knew she knew it, and they kind of had made peace with that.

Sarah ordered the rice dish, which was called hashwi, and Noah ordered the lamb and their dad ordered a chicken sandwich wrapped up, and while they waited for them to arrive they ate bread and hummus and tried to find something to talk about that wasn’t going to make everybody freak out.  Noah’s boyfriends were pretty much off limits.  Aaron didn’t even know about Adam, which was probably for the best, but it was hard to talk about anything if those three guys weren’t going to be in the conversation.  You could only ask so many questions about school before you were just fucking done.

“You remember that Piglet doll you had when you were a kid?” her dad asked.  “You used to drag that thing around everywhere.”

“I still have it.  And I made cookies the other day with Winnie-the-Pooh characters in frosting on the top.  Piglet, Pooh, Eeyore, all of them.”

“Oh yeah?  Special occasion?”

“Finn’s birthday,” she said.  That made them all go quiet.  Aaron scratched his neck.  

“Mr. Hummel treating you okay?” he tried.

Sarah nodded.  “He’s okay.”  She didn’t want to say he was the most awesome Tatenui ever, because  _awkward,_  but she could tone it down for her dad.  “Timmy called the other day.  He said Gaga’s working on this new song, Marry the Night, and — um.  People are helping.”

Aaron shook his head.  “It still blows my mind that Timmy’s working with Lady Gaga.”

Noah glared at her, and she glared right back.  Like she was going to tell her dad about Adam.  “I’m still totally jealous that you got to go to LA with him and meet her.  Completely unfair.  You don’t even like her music.”

“Not until I met her,” he objected.  “But now I do.  She’s perfectly badass.  Just because I’m not going to get all girly and squealy about her music doesn’t mean I don’t respect her as an artist.  And she liked Kurt’s song.”

Aaron looked stunned.  “Kurt sang for  _Lady Gaga?”_

“He  _wrote_  a song.  So did Noah.”  Sarah poked him, picking up loose pine nuts and popping them into her mouth.  The outraged look Noah gave her was totally unwarranted.  “What?”

Noah waited until they were in the truck to yell at her about it.  He barely said two words for the rest of dinner, though, and she had to make the plans for the three of them to have dinner next week while he grunted and fumed.  

He slammed the door on the driver’s side so hard, she thought it might come off.  “Jesus fucking christ, Sarah!” 

“Noah, if there’s  _anything_  you and Dad can talk about, it’s music.  What is the big deal?”

He looked like he was about to explode.  “Because I wrote that song for my fucking  _boyfriends,_ and Dad doesn’t want to hear about that shit!  And — it’s personal.  I’m not ready to trust him with anything that important.”

“Okay, okay.  I’m sorry.  That wasn’t mine to tell.  I’m just proud of you.  I want him to be, too, you know?”

“Yeah.”  He reached over and poked her, exactly the way she’d poked him earlier.  “I don’t hear you telling Dad about your perfect report card from first semester.”

She snorted.  “He wouldn’t care about that kind of thing at all.  He might even make fun of me for it.  The cookies, though, he’d eat those.  I could bring him cookies and he’d think I was a good little girl.”

Puck smiled despite himself, and started the truck.  “You?  Whatever.”

“Camouflage,” she said contentedly.  “It’s convenient.  I can get away with anything because I’m small and quiet and nobody notices me.”

“Yeah, I know.  I always admired you for that.  I can’t stop being loud and obvious, no matter what I do.  And Meemee —“

“Timmy just takes off,” Sarah agreed.  “Leaving me to clean up the mess.”

“Nobody ever said you had to do that.”

“Yeah, well, Noah, that’s what makes me different from you and Timmy.”  She tried to say it gently, not punitively.  “I  _have_  to, because there’s nobody else to do it.  Because somebody has to —“

“To be in charge,” he murmured.  He chuckled, casting a speculative look at her.  “Yeah, okay, I think I get that.  It’s not going to be me.  And, from what I saw with Meemee and Jacob, it sure as fuck ain’t going to be him.”

She smothered her smirk.  “Probably just as well I didn’t know any of this stuff you guys do when we were growing up.  If I’d have known I could have paddled the bullshit out of you, I might have.”

The truck came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the residential street as Noah slammed on the brakes.  “ _Sarah!”_

“Sarah, seven hundred and three,” she said, drawing a tally in the air, “Noah, five hundred and eighty-nine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song credit: "In Your Light" by Gotye, copyright 2011. (Yes, I know that's after this story is set; please forgive my time slips.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn talks to Burt and Carole about Puck moving back in, and they confront him about safe sex. The boys deal with Rachel's Run Joey Run video. Emma goes to see Dr. Howell. Finn and Kurt each try to out-protect the other's reputation while Finn attempts to break up Rachel and Jesse. Puck doesn't much care for their plan to move him in. Finn goes to Westerville to take care of Blaine in the middle of the night. Will figures out who wrote the glist. Toby listens to two requests for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so much going on here. Watching Bad Reputation again has helped me clarify a few plotlines, and there is a little quoting from certain scenes, but mostly it’s original stuff. One scene from the show got turned around into a Toby/Will confrontation. Warnings for references to discipline, including Finn’s new regimen of training. 
> 
> -amy

Finn wasn’t sure how to talk about Puck moving back home, but he was pretty sure Puck wasn’t going to bring it up to Burt any time soon.  Talking to adults wasn’t high on Puck’s list of preferred activities — although Ms. Corcoran seemed to be an exception.

Finn waited until after dinner on Sunday night, while Puck and Sarah were out for dinner with their dad, to mention it.  When Kurt took a load of dishes into the kitchen, he took a deep breath and said, “Um… Burt?  I need to ask you something.”

Burt gave his mom a funny look before nodding.  “Something you don’t want Kurt to hear?”

“Maybe.  Something I guess I want you to think about before you talk to Kurt.  It’s about Puck.”

Kurt returned for another handful of dishes, nudging against Finn in the process.  “Do you want to do homework downstairs before you go home?”

“Sure.”  He reached out and took the plates from Kurt’s hands.  “Why don’t I finish these?  You get started without me.”

Kurt was too smart not to realize there was something else going on.  Finn wouldn’t volunteer to do the dishes without a good reason.  But Kurt just smiled and said, “All right.”

His mom watched Kurt go, then followed Finn and Burt into the kitchen.  “What’s this about, Finn?”

“The baby.  Puck’s… daughter.  After she’s born, I don’t think he wants to have her at the apartment all by himself, but I think…”  He put the dishes into the sink, trying to think how to phrase it.  “He feels guilty asking for stuff, because he never thought he could do that?  And now that he can, he just — won’t.”

“I already told him he’s welcome to move in,” Burt said, but Finn shook his head.

“That’s not going to be enough.  And if you  _tell_  him to, he won’t do it, he’ll just resist.  But I know he wants to.  He misses everybody, and… anyway.  I had an idea.”  He walked over to the door on the far side of the kitchen, pushing the door open and surveying the space inside.  It was bigger than Kurt’s room, though not by much.  “If you were serious about giving up your office.”

“Honey,” Carole protested.  Burt held out a hand.

“I was serious,” he said.  “I could move the desk and filing cabinets upstairs into my room, and some of it can go to the garage.  It’d be the logical place for a nursery.”

“But it could be, like, for both of them.  Puck said when he was a kid, he and his brother shared a room, and when Sarah was born, Timmy got his own room and she and Puck shared.  He’s not used to sleeping alone.”  Finn blushed, realizing how that sounded, but neither his mom nor Burt seemed fazed by the concept.

“There were plenty of times when you were a baby that you slept with me,” his mom said.  “That makes sense, to give Puck a space with the baby, if you don’t think he would mind it.”

“Honestly, I think he’d be relieved to have somebody else take care of setting it up,” Finn said.  “He just needs a bed and a place for the baby to sleep and — he’d like being close to the kitchen.”

Burt grinned absently.  “So you’re saying we should just… do this?  Not ask him — and he’d be okay with that?”

“Yes,” Finn sighed, smiling back in relief.  “That’s what I’m saying.”

Burt exchanged another look with his mom.  “I guess you know him best.  So why didn’t you want to talk about this in front of Kurt?”

“I just didn’t want him to get his hopes up.  He really misses Puck being here all the time.”   _And me,_  he thought, with a stab of guilt.  “But I think having Puck here, with Sarah and Kurt, and the baby coming — it just makes sense.”

His mom leaned up and kissed him on the cheek.  “It does,” she said.  “Honey… while you’re here, there was one other thing we needed to bring up with you.”

Finn tried not to let his anxiety overwhelm him.  “Okay,” he said slowly, leaning back against the door frame.  The two of them there, facing him, was intimidating.   _Maybe having two parents isn’t always so great._

Burt looked as uncomfortable as Finn felt, but his mom was the one doing the talking.  “I told you yesterday on the phone that I trust you to make good decisions, and that I would treat you like an adult whenever possible.  I’m not usually willing to interfere in your relationships, but in this case, I think I need to insist, because it’s not just about your health.  If you’re going to be having sex with more than one person, you need to be using condoms.”

Finn opened his mouth, and that was where he stopped for several long seconds.  He swallowed.  “Mom, I’m not…”

“I don’t want to make this a question of me checking up on you,” she added.  “That’s not my job.  I want you  _all_  to be safe.”

“Mom,” he repeated, “I know.  We’ve talked about this.  Carl and me, we’re not — but he wants us to get tested, for… stuff.  Kurt thinks so too.  And then the five of us, we’re going to talk about it.”

“The — five of you?”  Carole blinked.  Burt cleared his throat.

“Adam,” he said gruffly.  “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

She looked flustered.  “I knew he and Puck were — and Kurt?  Finn, are the two of you…?”

This was starting to feel like he was telling private stuff, but he figured they deserved to know.  “Adam and me,  _we’re_  not doing anything, the two of us.  But he asked me permission, a couple weeks ago, for him and Kurt and Puck to… uh, do stuff.”  He gritted his teeth, thinking about the conversation he’d had with Kurt last week about being precise with his language.  He might as well be clear.  “To have oral sex without condoms.  And I said they could do that.  Like, I did some reading, and it’s not very risky, and Adam’s been tested a bunch of times, and… yeah.”

Now Burt looked like he might be ready to melt into the floor, or possibly bolt from the room, but he hadn’t done either one of those things yet.  His mom just smiled gratefully at him.  “That’s a good start, honey.”

“So, as long as none of us are doing anything with anybody else, the five of us, we made an agreement together that we didn’t need condoms with each other for, um.  Oral sex.  But with anybody else, we would.  That’s what Puck did with Alex and Daphne and Nicole in Santa Fe.”  He paused.  “You did know about them?”

“They’ve been mentioned, yeah.”  Burt still didn’t appear satisfied.  “I don’t mean this to sound harsh, Finn, but… Puck doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to honesty and sex.  You trust him to tell you if he breaks this agreement?”

“Yes,” Finn said firmly.  “No question.  Even when things were awful between us, I could always tell when he was keeping things from me.  And I don’t think he would, especially not from Kurt.  Not again.”

“Finn?”  They all turned as one to see Kurt standing in the kitchen door, staring at them with a heartbreakingly angry expression.  “Am I interrupting something?”

“No.  No, baby.”  Finn watched Kurt flinch a little at the endearment, and he sighed.  “I’m sorry this is taking so long.”

“Why don’t you fill Kurt in on our conversation,” his mom said, giving his shoulder a push.  “Go work on that homework.”

Kurt ignored Finn all the way down the stairs, only swiveling to face him when they reached the green couch.  His anger had not abated.  “I  _know_  you understood that  _homework_  was code for  _making out,_  because I know you don’t actually have any homework to do.  So what was that all about?”

“They ambushed me about safe sex,” Finn said.  Kurt took a step back, his eyes widening.

“Oh.”  

“And apparently my mom didn’t know you and Adam were doing it.”  He sighed.  “I don’t know.  It was a little weird.  They want us to use condoms, if we have other — people.”

“Oh,” Kurt said again.  He bit his lip.  “I wonder if we should be.”

Finn felt his organs settling inside, his heart and stomach all piling up on top of one another.  “Do you want to?”

“No.  But it might be the responsible thing to do.”

“Shit.”  He followed the pull of gravity and sat on the couch.  Kurt joined him, one hand on his knee, watching him anxiously.  “Kurt, Carl and I aren’t going to be doing anything that would require condoms for a long time.  But you and Puck, with Adam… you guys are.  Already.”

“We’ve used condoms,” Kurt insisted, and Finn nodded.

“I believe you.  I guess I trust Adam to tell you if he had sex with some random guy.”  He sighed, watching Kurt blanch.  “Not that he would do that.”

“He might.”  Kurt’s voice was shaky.  “I don’t really know him at all.”

Finn reached over and gathered Kurt up, feeling the tension all through his body.  He kissed Kurt’s cheek, his ear, and rested his forehead on Kurt’s temple.

“You do,” he said.  “You love him.  He’s part of this, and — and it’s  _fine,_  it really is.  We can do this responsibly, right?  Whatever you need, we all want you to have that.  And, baby, you need Adam.”

Kurt’s eyes closed.  “I know it’s only another two weeks until we go to Tessera.  Less.  Somehow it feels harder to wait, the closer we get.”

Finn nodded.  “Well… until then, you’ve got me.  And I’m going to do my best to give you what you need.”

Kurt didn’t even protest.  He just took Finn’s offered hand and let him lead him into the bedroom and close the door.  

* * *

By the time they arrived home after school on Monday, Burt had already made an impressive effort to move things out of his office.  Finn jumped in to help as Burt dragged the desk toward the door, and Kurt moved the kitchen table out of their way.  

“What’s going on?” he said suspiciously.

“Your boyfriend’s moving in,” Burt replied, grunting.  “Him and his kid.  I’m not taking no for an answer, either, so don’t try to warn him.  Finn, give me a hand with this corner.”

They managed to get the heavy desk around the corner without damaging anything, through the kitchen to the dining room and toward the stairs, but when Kurt heard what Finn was whistling, he had to protest.  “Please,  _don’t_  earworm me with  _that.”_   

“This is physical work,” Finn countered.  “And everybody’s been humming it all day.  It’s catchy.”

“It’s  _Olivia-Newton John._ I swear, if they figure out who actually made that list, I’m going to force them to sit through a marathon session of  _Xanadu_  and its even more terrible sequel. _”_

Burt wiped his forehead before replacing his ball cap, panting with exertion.  “What list?”

Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Somebody’s very clever idea to write a list rating each Glee member’s sexual appeal.  Or their promiscuity, or something, I don’t really get it.  It wasn’t Noah, at least, I can be sure of that, because  _I_  wasn’t on the list at all.”

Burt’s eyebrows furrowed.  “You weren’t  _on_  the list?”

“I don’t care,” he moaned.  “Can we just drop it?”

Finn was pretty sure if Carl found out he’d been the one to put Sue Sylvester’s “Physical” video on YouTube, he’d get a spanking — but at least by doing that he’d successfully redirected attention away from Kurt stealing it from Sue’s office.  Whatever value this list creator had placed on being sexually experienced, what they didn’t know about Kurt wouldn’t hurt them.  It was to all their benefit if Kurt could be ignored altogether.  

Once they got the desk in place under the window in Burt’s bedroom, they followed Burt back downstairs to wrangle the file cabinet out of there, one drawer at a time.

“You don’t seem excited by the idea of Puck moving back in.”  Finn walked backwards, carrying the end of the empty file cabinet, with Kurt on the other end.  

“Because it’ll never work,” Kurt snapped.  “Giving him a room doesn’t mean he’ll actually want to use it.”

“He might, though.”  Burt didn’t look at Finn, shrugging as Kurt turned his glare on him.  “You never know.”

“I know it as well as I know that Mr. Schue should never do Vanilla Ice again.  Ever.”

Finn grinned.  “Aw, come on.  Puck was pretty great.  And did you see Mike?  Man, that guy has  _moves._ ”

Kurt didn’t respond, and they shifted the rest of the file drawers up the half-stairs to Burt’s bedroom in silence.  Kurt let Finn hug him in the hallway, but he wasn’t really responding.  Burt gave him a  _don’t worry about it_  glance, but Finn wasn’t sure what to do.  

He sat on the couch with Kurt afterward, getting started on this week’s homework (actual homework, not a cover this time), while Kurt fielded a series of calls.  The first was from Puck, letting him know he wouldn’t be over for dinner because he was helping Rachel with a song, which made them both blink a little.  

“Why did she ask you and not Jesse?” Finn wanted to know.

_“Hell if I know,”_  said Puck.  “ _I’ll report back tomorrow.”_

The second call was from Mercedes, during which she and Kurt traded fast and furious choreography ideas about something they were doing in the library which involved parachute pants and a boom box.  Finn couldn’t help but snicker.

“I know,” Kurt drawled when he’d hung up the phone.  “But I have to look outraged about my place on the glist.  Mercedes, Tina and Artie all agreed with me that being naughty in the library was the pinnacle of bad taste, if not the worst thing one could do at school.  We’re going to fail to distract some learners by singing an appallingly bad 80s song.”

Finn peered over his shoulder at Kurt’s sketch.  “Want some help with that choreography?  Puck and I both went through an totally awesome breakdancing stage, you know.”

They argued over the five-person ensemble dance number until Sarah got home from school, at which point she and Kurt disappeared into discussions about fabrics and color combinations for her bedroom.  Finn answered the third phone call, which appeared to be from “Andi/Brad/Laurie,” but turned out to be just the last of the triad.

“Kurt’s busy playing interior decorator with Puck’s sister,” Finn told her after picking up Kurt’s phone.  “Anything I can do for you?”

_“We just wanted to see if Puck and Kurt could babysit again on Friday.  We’re getting very spoiled.  Having an entire kid-free evening to ourselves each week feels positively decadent.”_

Kurt gave her a tentative yes, with the understanding that he’d have to check with Puck.  “Although I don’t think he has any plans,” he told her.  “Can I let Brad know tomorrow?”

While they talked, Finn wandered into Sarah’s room, where she was playing with paint chips and pieces of upholstery.  The colors were okay, but the fabric swatches were definitely not Finn’s style.  He wrinkled his nose.  “You really like this?”

“My room,” Sarah said loftily.  “You don’t have to come in if you don’t like it.  What would you pick?”

“Anything but cowboy wallpaper.”  

She nudged his arm.  “No, seriously.”

“You mean if I could have anything in my room?  I guess I’d like a place where I could be alone, but with enough room to make somebody else feel welcome.  A bigger bed.  Space for drums — I’m so sick of practicing in the basement.  A big video game console.”

“Boys,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.  “Everything has to be  _big._   Don’t you want it to be pretty?”

“I really don’t,” he said.  “But thanks.  It’s your room, not mine.”

* * *

Emma was completely surprised to answer the doorbell after dinner and find Will standing on her porch.  

“Can I come in?” he asked.  He looked, if it was possible, more broken than he had the last time they’d spoken.  She opened the door and ushered him inside, trying to figure out if she could reasonably ask him to remove his shoes before he stepped through the door onto the tile.  

“Will,” she said, wringing her hands, “you really should have called.  Not that I’m not happy to see you, I’m just… I was reading.”

She was, in fact, reading the book that Derek-Howell-probably-not-his-real-name-STW (and she still hadn’t figured out what those letters stood for) had given her, the blue one with the woman wearing a mask on the cover.  It had all kinds of fascinating information in it, some of which made her gasp out loud and some of which made her wince, and some of which made her literally drop her jaw and gape at the page before reading it again.  Only a few of the things she read fell into the  _oh, god, people actually do that?_  category.  No, mostly they were in the  _people admit to wanting that?_  category instead.  This was definitely not a book she would want to be caught reading at work, and she already had all kinds of deviant psychology texts in her office.  This was more like an opportunity to be fired in one little 7x12” package.  

And here Will was.  Not that he would get her fired for… for what?  Doing her own things, at her own house?  She let out a resolute breath.

“I’m reading a book about being spanked,” she said, a little too loudly.  It made her laugh, and she covered her mouth to stifle it — which struck her as funny, and she laughed again.  Will stared at her.

“Um… okay?”

“It’s not for pleasure.  It’s — you know, really?  I don’t even know what it’s for.  I’m not going to pigeonhole myself, Will.  I’ve done that already, for such a long time.  I’ve been the kind of girl who wouldn’t even consider doing something like — this.  Even if it is for my own good.”

“Emma, what are you talking about?” Will sounded plaintive, and it made her laugh again.  She took his arm and led him into the kitchen. 

“Look.  Will, this, what we’re doing… what we’ve been doing, you and me?  Pretending to be together.  It’s just… it’s not working for me.  I need something more than that.  I’m looking for it.  Something to deal with… all of it.”  She sighed again, resting a hand over her eyes.  “I’m not explaining myself well.”

“No, no, it’s okay.”  He sat down at her kitchen counter, taking care not to scratch the floor as he pulled out the stool.  He did it exactly the way she’d asked him to.  Witnessing that act made her feel so cared for that she paused and smiled and blushed for a good ten seconds, but Will was apparently oblivious.  “Today was — the kids, somebody, made this list, and Figgins threatened the Glee club for the thousandth time, and Sue was… beyond belief.”  He looked at her with tired eyes.  “I just really miss having Toby there to help me deal with all this crap.  I’m afraid I’m using you as — as my substitute for him.  And it’s just not fair to you.”

She laughed again.  It felt good.  “Will, you can.  You’re not doing anything I don’t want you to do.”

He shook his head.  “I can… what?”

“Use me,” she said, then she gasped a little, hearing the words, seeing his eyes widen.  “I don’t mean — I mean just like this.  We’re friends.  You can use me for that.  I’m not talking about using me in a kinky way.”

Will started to laugh.  “Emma, I kind of can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“You have  _no idea,_ ”she agreed fervently.  

She did feel sad for him, that things with Toby weren’t working out.  Will deserved to be as happy as any man, and Toby certainly did that for him.  But he sure wasn’t making it any easier for himself.  

Emma didn’t quite realize the extent to which this was true until the next morning, when Sue Sylvester appeared in her office and declared she was going to be Emma’s counselor — and filled her in on some choice details about Will’s actions with other people.  It shook her up.

“You need to stand up for yourself,” Sue told her.  “You’re continually being lied to by the man you purport to love.”

Was that true?  Toby had told her that Will had slept with April, but Will had denied it.  But, apparently, Will also hadn’t told her the whole story about Shelby Corcoran.  Whom should she trust?  And here was Sue, telling her to  _grow a pair,_  to  _communicate your feelings._  What was she going to do?  Confront him in the middle of the lunch room?

That was, as a matter of fact, what she was going to do.  Emma was a little startled to find herself yelling  _you’re a slut_  at the top of her lungs, accusing Will of all the things she’d suspected but really had no proof of, and his own guilty response seemed only to corroborate Sue’s story about Shelby.  She wondered how Toby would respond to  _that_  piece of information.  In return, she spilled her own secrets out for the entire room to hear, about her therapist and what she was planning on doing with him.  She didn’t care. It didn’t matter anymore.

“I’m through with you,” she said, gritting her teeth, and stomped away.  He didn’t even try to stop her.  That was the end of their pretend relationship.

She ended up crying in her office for the rest of lunch, then quickly finishing up her paperwork, calling the front office and letting them know she was taking the rest of the day off as a sick day.  She didn’t even wait to reach her car before she was on the phone, dialing Derek’s number.  

_“Dr. Howell and Mr. Lawton, how may I direct your call?”_  said the calm voice on the other end of the line.

Emma tried to control the shaking in her voice.  “I’m — my name’s Emma.  I’ve been talking to — Dr. Howell?  And I need to make an appointment.  Right away.”

_“Of course.  How soon can you come in?”_

She laughed, hoping it didn’t sound hysterical.  “I’m free right now?”

The woman on the phone, who called herself Angela, put Emma on hold for a brief, terrifying wait, but when she came back on the line, she said,  _“Dr. Howell can see you in twenty minutes.  Let me give you directions.”_

It was the longest five minute drive she’d ever made.  Arriving at the corner across from the courthouse and approaching the tinted window felt like a bigger step than driving to Columbus and asking Six about her preference between a cane and a tawse.   She decided, when she saw Angela smiling and beckoning her to the desk, that it was because this was  _her own choice,_  about  _her own life_.  It was possibly the first time she’d ever really made such a choice before.  

“I’m scared,” she admitted to Angela in a whisper, as she filled out the paperwork.  Angela reached out and took her hand, and Emma gripped it, feeling grateful for her willingness to extend herself to a total stranger.  

“I’ve been where you are,” Angela said.  “Almost literally.  And I was just as scared as you are.”  Her plain face shone.  “But I have never regretted my choices.  And Dr. Howell — he has saved my life many times over.”

Emma nodded.  She knew she was not really understanding yet, but she was so willing to trust that this might be, if not  _the answer,_  at least one of them.  

When Derek emerged from the back wearing green scrubs, she felt like she might want to sink to her knees and cry a little.  Which, from what she had read, would not have been entirely inappropriate — but she wasn’t about to do that.  Not without a lot of talking and reassurance.  

Angela handed Dr. Howell the folder full of paperwork.  “Sir,” she said, “Emma Pillsbury, here to see you.”

“Emma,” he said.  He smiled, the same devastating smile she’d seen in Columbus.  “It’s very good to meet you, at last.”

“Doctor,” she said.  “Thank you for — thank you.”

He gestured toward the staircase, leading up.  It looked so ordinary, she stood there for several moments, staring up at the dim landing just out of her view. 

“Do you want me to go first?” he offered.

She hesitated just one more second before shaking her head, and began the ascent, one step at a time.

* * *

Kurt was pretty proud of his oh-so-bad rendition of  _U Can’t Touch This._   In the end, he and Finn had called Adam to look over the choreography, but Adam had only made a few minor suggestions about what to change.  

_“Please, please, find some way to record it for me,”_ Adam had begged, so when he arrived at school, Kurt went to the computer lab, looking for Lauren.  He’d found her, but when he saw who was talking to her, he stopped in the doorway.

“Hi, Kurt,” Sarah said, giving him a little wave, and ducked under his arm, disappearing down the hall.  He swung around to watch her go, then turned back to Lauren.

“What is Puck’s sister doing here?” he demanded.  “She’s supposed to be at school!”

“Middle school first period doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes, Hummel,” Lauren said,  not looking up from her computer screen.  “What do you care, anyway?”

“Because.”  He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought up a suitable cover story about Sarah.  Finally he sighed.  “Do you keep secrets, or do you tell people you keep secrets and then tell everybody anyway?”

Now she did look up, blinking in surprise.  “The former.  I have secrets you wouldn’t believe.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.  So, Sarah is — she’s going to be — my adopted sister.”

Lauren nodded.  “Nice.  Yeah, I actually knew that one.  So can I help you with anything?”

“But what was she doing  _here?_ ” 

She snorted.  “Seriously?  Do we have to go over the definition of the word  _secret?_   I have a convenient dictionary right here.   SEE-krit, noun.  Definition number one, fuck the hell off.  So I ask I again: can I help you with anything?”

Lauren agreed to arrange for someone to be present in the library between second and third periods with the tiny video camera she supplied from the tech lab, although she didn’t tell him who would be recording.  “You’d perform differently if you knew who it was,” she explained.  “Spontaneous is better.  Is this for your boyfriend?”

“Yes,” he said.  At least that wasn’t a lie, even if the boyfriend she meant wasn’t the boyfriend he was recording it for.  “Now I owe you two favors.  Any ideas about how I can pay off my debts?”

“Oh, I’ll be sure to let you know.”  

It could have sounded ominous, but Kurt felt somehow that, no matter how brusque she was, he could trust Lauren.  It wasn’t the most unusual alliance he could have imagined, by any means, and she was undoubtedly smart, talented and resourceful.  

The performance, such as it was, went off without a hitch.  Kurt suspected Felix, stationed conveniently in the center of the library, was the one recording them, but he couldn’t be certain.  Everyone’s face fell afterward when Mrs. Harrold told them they were “cute,” but Kurt couldn’t have prompted a better line if he’d set it up himself.  

He was just on his way out of the bathroom after changing out of his costume when Mr. Schue stopped him with a firm hand on his arm.  

“You,” he snapped.  “My office.  Now.”

It was clear Kurt hadn’t been the only one to be interrogated in Schue’s office that day.  Listening to him rant about getting some answers, Kurt had to wonder what kind of nighttime television he’d been watching.  

“And no, I didn’t make the glist,” Kurt told him.  “But I suppose that’s what everybody’s told you.”

Mr. Schue sighed, sinking into his chair.  “Right.  Mercedes blamed Quinn, Quinn blamed Rachel, Tina blamed Puck… I don’t like all this divisiveness.  It’s not good for Glee.”

“You sound like Finn.”  Kurt leaned forward with a sympathetic smile.  “I wish I had answers for you, but I think you have enough to worry about with your own drama.”

He glanced around himself uncomfortably.  “I don’t know what you’re —“

“Puck and I have been babysitting for Brad, Laurie and Andi.  They’re worried about you and Toby.”

“Kurt, I can’t talk about that at school.”  Mr. Schue’s expression was reproachful.  “If you hear anything about the glist, please come tell me.  And Kurt?  I know it was Finn who put the video on YouTube.  He’s looking at suspension for that, if Sue finds out.”

That shook him a little.  Finn could probably handle a suspension, but his academic record wasn’t great, and he was going to need all the support he could get in order to keep his reputation clear.  So much for Kurt preserving his own squeaky-clean image.  He caught up with Artie in the hallway.

“Artie, you need to suggest to the group that we tell Sue we posted her video,” he announced.  “It can’t come from me, but if you set me up, I’ll confront her.”  

Artie gave him a curious look.  “Why are you so worried about your reputation all of a sudden?”

“It’s not my reputation I’m protecting. Finn can’t risk a suspension.  If I get one, it’ll just be one blemish, but he’s already been missing class and his grades aren’t — just do this, okay?”

“Okay,” Artie agreed.  He grinned at Kurt.  “You guys really are getting to be good friends.  I guess this thing with your parents isn’t as bad as you’d thought at first, huh?”

“Not bad at all,” Kurt agreed, trying to smile.  “I really… yes.  And Finn’s been great about it.”

Lauren passed him in the hallway, handing off the video camera as she went.  “Get it back to me by Friday,” she called as she breezed away.  That, he wouldn’t be posting anywhere.  Adam was just going to have to wait until they saw each other in person again to watch Kurt do 80s hip-hop.  

He wanted to grab Finn and Puck and hide out in their attic room during lunch, but Artie’s comment had made him feel unexpectedly self-conscious.  Who might be watching them when they weren’t looking?  What did they know?  Lauren might be willing to keep his secrets, but that wouldn’t last forever.  Until social services settled matters with Sarah and Puck and their father, everything was going to remain unstable.  He needed to do what he could to draw attention away from Finn.

* * *

Dave heard the rumors about Ms. Pillsbury calling Mr. Schuester a slut in the teacher’s lounge, but he wasn’t ready to believe it until he heard Coach Tanaka confront Schuester in the hallway on Tuesday.  

“You broke the heart of somebody who doesn’t let people get close to her,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Schuester protested.  

“Yeah, well, she didn’t mean to hurt me, either.”  He backed away, eyes fixed on Schuester.  “Sometimes things don’t turn out the way we expect.”

Dave almost felt bad for Mr. Schuester, the way he looked absolutely crushed by Coach’s accusation, but he’d obviously brought this on himself.  Dragging your personal relationships to school, that was never going to end well.  

Matt paused beside him a minute later, scanning the hallway. “You seen the Coach?”

“I think he’s in the locker room.”  Dave slammed his locker, hefting his bag to his shoulder.  “Looks like Schuester’s getting his comeuppance.  Ms. P tore him a new one.”

“Poor guy.”  Matt’s grimace was kind.  “I don’t believe what she said, though.  Mr. Schuester’s dating somebody else, somebody he’s known since he was a kid.  You don’t throw away relationships like that on a stupid affair.”

Dave felt the sting of Matt’s words, even though he knew Matt didn’t mean them to hurt.  Blaine’s friendship had been significant to both of them — until he’d decided to move on, leaving Dave behind. 

“Yeah, well, sometimes people do stupid things.  Sometimes relationships don’t last, no matter how much you want them to.”

Matt paused, watching him.  Then he nodded regretfully.  “I guess that’s true.  I just don’t like to think that way about Mr. Schue and — they just seemed, you know.  True love, if you believe in that.”

Dave didn’t watch him walk away.  He wasn’t at all sure he did believe in that.  Nature didn’t work that way.  It was just randomness and order, jockeying for dominance, and randomness usually won.  And didn’t that suck for humans, that they thought they were too smart and too self-aware to just go along with the natural order of things?  People had to believe they knew better, had a better way, than millions of years of evolution.  

People were just screwed, that was all.

* * *

“How’d your performance go today?” Burt wanted to know.  

Kurt paused in dusting the ramekins along Burt’s office window.  “Performance?”

“You know, the thing you and Finn were working on last night.  Come on, I could hear you arguing about it all the way upstairs.”

The thought was not a comforting one, that Burt and his mom could hear what was going on in the basement that easily.  Finn tore off another piece of paper toweling and passed it to Kurt, then sprayed the trim along the top of the window with wood cleaner.  

“It wasn’t really a performance,” he explained.  “It was kind of a — statement.  In the library.”

“I recorded it, though,” said Kurt.  “Adam asked me to.  I think it went really well, but I haven’t watched it yet.”

“Maybe you could hook it up to the TV after dinner.”  Burt set down the bucket of cleaning supplies and the mop.  “Speaking of dinner, I’ll check on Sarah’s crockpot creation.  I’ve been hungry since I got home, smelling that stuff.”

“She’s going to spoil us,” Kurt murmured, grinning.  “My dad’s never eaten so well for so long.”

“I think that’s the kind of spoiling that’s not bad for you.”  He looked at the paper towel and made a face.  “This is gross.  I’m guessing your dad hasn’t cleaned in here for a long time.  Like, maybe since Reagan was president.”

Kurt reached out and touched Finn’s arm.  “Finn… I told Sue I put her video online.”

Finn dropped the paper towel, staring at him.  “Why the hell did you tell her that?”

“Because  _you_  had no reason to take responsibility for that.  I’m guessing you did it to protect me.”  Kurt looked at him with probing eyes.  “You never would have, if I hadn’t stolen it to begin with.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Finn muttered, turning back to the window trim, but Kurt tugged firmly on his arm.

“As it turns out, she wasn’t mad at all.  Apparently I did her a favor, and she made this  _new_  Physical video with Olivia-Newton John.”  He grinned at Finn’s expression.  “Yeah.  You’ll never believe it.  I’ll show you later.  Anyway, I’m off the hook, and so are you, but… Finn.  You didn’t have to stick your neck out for me like that.”

Finn had to kiss him then, quickly, even if Burt was right there in plain sight.  “Baby — yeah.  I did.  That’s kind of what I said I would do, you know?  Take care of you.”

“Isn’t it more like we’re taking care of each other?” Kurt asked, but his cheeks were flushed, and he looked pleased.  “I just don’t want you to get in trouble for no reason.”

“You’re the best reason.  I  _like_  taking care of you, and Puck, and — and Patrick.”  He shrugged.  “And Sarah, and Puck’s daughter, I’m guessing.  Everybody.  It’s what I want, okay?”

Kurt dropped his voice, spraying the window and leaning in close to Finn.  “Speaking of Sarah… she was at McKinley this morning.  I found her in the computer lab, talking to Lauren.”

The comment felt like a pretty neat redirection, but Finn was willing to drop it for now.  “Yeah?  What for?”

“She left before I could ask her, and Lauren wasn’t telling.”  He glanced at the door.  “I don’t think I want to get her in trouble with my dad, just for not being where she was supposed to be, but there’s definitely something going on.”

“Ask her,” Finn said.  “She trusts you, as much as she trusts Puck.  If she won’t tell you, there’s probably a good reason.”

They heard the front door open and close, and they scrambled quickly out of the office and shut the door behind them, not wanting Puck to see it before they were done with it.  But it turned out to be Burt, letting Quinn in.  

“Hi,” said Finn, looking at Kurt, but he appeared to be as mystified as he was.  “Are — can I do something for you?”

“Finn.”  Kurt reached out, taking Quinn’s coat, then led her into the kitchen, glaring at Finn.  “Would you like something to drink?”

“I can’t stay long, really.  I’m just here to talk to Finn, and… well, you, too, Kurt.  Of course.”  She looked apologetic as she accepted the glass of water, and sat at the kitchen table.  “It’s your house.  It’s — Finn, it’s about the glist.”

“ _You’re_  the one who wrote that?” Finn said, floored, but she shook her head.

“It wasn’t me.  It was Rachel.  I’m sure of it.  Mr. Schue doesn’t believe me, but I thought she might listen to you, Finn.  If you asked her to come forward, maybe she’d take responsibility for it.  I know she doesn’t want the Glee club to suffer for the sake of her reputation.”

Finn thought about it.  “I don’t even know if she would listen to me, anymore.  She was here the other night, and it felt like she was trying to tell me something, but… I didn’t know what it was.”

“She’s desperate to keep Jesse’s attention,” Kurt said, “but that’s not enough of a reason to suspect her.”

Quinn’s mouth was a straight, flat line.  “Yeah, well.  I heard the way she was talking with Jesse on Monday, when they were working on her video for the Glee assignment.  She’d do anything to draw attention to herself, even if it’s not always positive.”

Burt ducked into the kitchen behind Finn, nodding at Quinn as he picked up the wooden spoon and gave the pot a stir.  “I think it’s about ready, guys.  Quinn, you want to join us for dinner?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mr. Hummel, but thank you.”  She waited until Burt left to add, “Isn’t Puck eating with you?”

“He’s having dinner with — a friend, at his place.”

She shook her head as she rose.  “Honestly, Finn, what kind of a  _father_  is he going to be if he’s always off doing other things?”

“When she’s here, he’ll be ready,” he told her.  Kurt looked like he wanted to give his own response, but Finn frowned, and he sighed, remaining silent.  Finn showed her to the door.

“I don’t know how you can show so much patience with her,” Kurt told him after she’d gone. 

“She’s going through a lot.  I know she can be judgmental, but she really is on our side.”  He pulled his phone out of his pocket as it rang.  “Speak of the devil.  It’s Rachel.”

“Answer it,” Kurt urged.  Finn put the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

_“Finn,”_  she said efficiently, _“I’m finishing up this project for Glee, and it needs some final, special Finn Hudson touches.  Could you come over tonight?  I promise it won’t take very long.”_

“Sure.”  He shrugged at Kurt’s inquisitive look.  “I can come over.”

_“Excellent.  I’ll expect you after dinner.”_

Finn put his phone back into his pocket, explaining, “She wants me to help with this project.  I wonder if it’s the same thing Puck was helping with?”

“Or Jesse.”  Kurt went to the cupboard and got five bowls, stacking them next to the crockpot with spoons, then got a loaf of bread from the breadbox and unwrapped it.  “Do you think she wrote the glist?”

“I have no idea.  Rachel usually has a reason for everything, but I can’t always figure her out.”

Kurt began slicing thick pieces of bread.  “Well, don’t look at me.  I’ve never been able to understand girls.”

Sarah and his mom arrived halfway through dinner.  They were laughing as they struggled to lift a wooden table up the steps of the front porch.  Burt stood in the doorway, holding the door open.

“I think I know better than to offer to help,” he called, “but what the heck is that?”

“It was on the side of the road,” his mom replied.  “It looks like it’s in good shape.  We thought, maybe, a side table for Puck’s room.”

“We haven’t even talked to Puck about that room yet.”  Burt seemed more bemused than upset.  Kurt watched without smiling as Sarah and Carole moved it into the empty study and attacked it with cleaning supplies.  

“He’ll go along with it,” Finn said to him, but Kurt looked away.

“You’re not coming back tonight, are you?”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he promised.  “Both of us will.”

Finn’s mom let him drive her car over to Rachel’s.  On the way, he called Puck.  It was always a gamble as to whether he’d pick up, but tonight he did.  

_“I’m stirring the béchamel sauce,”_  he said,  _“so if I freak out and start swearing, you’ll know it got too hot and turned into scrambled eggs.”_

“Tell me about Rachel’s Glee project?  The one you were helping her with last night.”

_“Yeah, it was pretty whack.  She picked this song, Run Joey Run, and did a music video about it.  I got to play the part of the  boyfriend who called her on the phone.  She apparently gets shot by her own dad or something.”_

“She asked me to come over and help with the project tonight.  Quinn thinks she wrote the glist.”

_“Who gives a fuck?”_   Puck sounded irritated.   _“It’s just a stupid list.  It doesn’t mean anything.”_

“Except that Figgins is threatening to close down the Glee club over it.  Obviously somebody cares enough not to say anything.”

_“Maybe it was Quinn.  Or anybody.  Why is it your personal mission to find out all of a sudden?”_

Finn wasn’t sure how to explain that, while Rachel’s happiness wasn’t his responsibility, he felt a certain amount of obligation toward her anyway.  “Quinn thought she might tell me,” he said at last.  “I don’t know, I’m going to give it a try.  You coming over to Kurt’s tomorrow night?”

_“Yeah, I’ll be there.”_   

He didn’t have to try for the next question to come out low and thick with possibility.  “You want me to come over tonight and take care of you before bed?”

Puck cursed under his breath.   _“I — yeah.  Yeah, I want that.”_

“I’ll call before I head over.”  

With a sudden shock, Finn realized he still had tonight’s plug inside him.  Carl’s instructions had been for him to insert it after school and remove it before dinner.  He was going to have to take it out at Rachel’s… and then he was going to have to text Carl and admit he’d failed to follow his instructions.  He sighed.  He was not going to freak out about this.  

Rachel’s dad met Finn at the door.  He had to think for a moment which dad this was, but the man saved him by smiling and shaking Finn’s hand, saying, “It’s nice to see you again, Finn.  I’m Leroy.”

“Hello, sir,” he said.  “I’m helping Rachel with a project for Glee.”

He gestured around the house.  “You’re the third boy to come over this week.  Rachel’s in the side yard with the fog machine.  If you two get cold, come in for some miso soup.”

Rachel had a video camera on a tripod and a light on a stand set up on the driveway.  She was entirely embroiled in her creative process, barely pausing to greet him before she was directing him where to stand and giving him instructions like, “Now, again, with  _more horror_  when you see Julie’s been shot.”  

He was kind of amused by the ketchup blood, and the whole production was just as elaborate as he’d come to expect from Rachel.  But he thought he could also see Rachel’s angle on this, and guess how the other guys might be involved.  It felt childish, but that was Rachel, too.  So he went along with it, and didn’t say anything about Puck or Jesse.

But when she thanked him and dismissed him, he went back to his car and called Carl.  

“Sir,” he began, “I have a question and a confession.”

_“All right.”_   He heard Carl shuffling papers.  _“How about you get the confession out of the way first?”_

“Are you still at work?”

_“That sounded like a question to me.”_

Finn sighed.  “All right, I have  _two_  questions and a confession.”

_“I still haven’t heard anything that resembled a —“_

“I forgot to take the plug out after dinner,” he said, loud enough that he was immediately worried that somebody outside the car might have heard.  But no one was around, and even if they had heard, they wouldn’t have understood the significance, that Finn had — that he hadn’t —  He swallowed an unexpected sob.

_“Oh, my boy,”_  Carl said.  Now all the teasing was gone.   _“Finn.  All right.  I’m here, and — are you listening?”_

He fought the tears, but they were winning, and there was no way Carl wasn’t going to hear them.  “Yes, sir.”

_“It’s okay to make a mistake.  It doesn’t mean you’re a bad boy.  You’re doing your best, and I’m proud of you.”_

Finn sat there, staring at the silent dashboard of the car, trying to keep his breathing even.  “Okay.  I’m — I’m sorry.”

_“It’s a discipline. It’s a practice.  That means you need to start at the beginning and improve.  I don’t expect perfection.  I expect you to do exactly what you did, which was to let me know when you need help.”_

He squeezed his eyes shut, as though that could ward away the shame he felt, and said nothing.  Carl sighed. 

_“What was your question?”_

“I need to talk to Jesse, and I was hoping you might have his phone number.   Either that or you could just walk down the hall and find him for me.”

_“I’m sure that would bring up all kinds of interesting questions.  Yes, Finn, I have his number, and I’ll text it to you.  May I ask where you are?”_

“I’m sitting in Rachel’s driveway.”

There was a silence.  

“Sir?”

_“Is — everything all right?”_   His voice sounded stiff. 

“I think I might have a way to convince Jesse to stop seeing Rachel.  It’s not very nice, though.”

_“Some people believe the ends justify the means.”_

Finn blew his nose.  “What do you think?”

_“I think nice is overrated.”_  Carl sounded so gentle.   _“I also think you should come over here, right now.”_

“Oh,” he whispered, “um.  Yeah.  That would be — yes.  Yes please.”  He could hear Puck’s words coming out of his own mouth, almost identical in tone, that  _need_  shimmering just below the surface.  “But Jesse —?”

_“He’s in the middle of watching a movie.  I would request you come in the kitchen entrance, though, and up the back stairs to my room.”_

“Thank you.”  His breath was already moving more easily.   “I’m sorry.”

_“For needing me?  On the contrary, I would say that’s precisely what you should do.  You’re my boy.  I’m here to take care of you.”_

“Yeah, I know that, I think?  I just forget sometimes.”

Carl chuckled.   _“I’m happy to give you a reminder any time.  Drive safely.”_

Finn called Jesse’s number while he made his way across town from Rachel’s house to Carl’s, on the outskirts of Lima Heights.  He could hear the movie still playing in the background as Jesse answered.   _“This is Jesse St. James.”_

“It’s Finn.  Don’t hang up.”

The movie cut off abruptly.   _“I wouldn’t be so crass.”_

“I wanted to let you know that in this movie Rachel’s making for Glee, she’s trying to emphasize her bad reputation by getting a bunch of guys to play opposite her.  Me, and you, and Puck.  I’m guessing because she’s dated all of us.”

_“Okay.  Is this supposed to bother me, that she’s being a creative filmmaker?”_

“I’m saying it would be a reasonable out for you.”

_“And why do I need —“_

“Because Rachel wouldn’t be okay if she knew she was dating her brother.”

The silence persisted for a while, but at last, Finn heard Jesse’s sigh.   _“I have no doubt.”_

“I’m not going to tell her.  You’re going to break up with her, and you’re going to make it awful enough that she never wants to get back together with you again.”

_“And if I don’t?”_

Finn’s mouth tightened.  “Then Rachel will find out a whole bunch of things Shelby probably doesn’t want her to know.”

_“You’re a real prick, you know that?”_

“I warned you at Rinky Dink’s: Glee club takes care of its own.  I really don’t have anything against you, Jesse, but whatever you thought you were doing with Rachel, it was —“

_“I didn’t know.”_   His voice was slow and tired.   _“When this all started, I didn’t know who she was.  It wasn’t my plan to —”_

“I don’t think I want to know your plan.  I just want you to go away and leave Rachel alone.  Understood?”

_“I hear you.”_

That was all he got from Jesse.  It was going to have to be enough.  Finn supposed he’d find out tomorrow if Jesse was really going to play along or not.  

* * *

Before Rachel presented her movie on Wednesday, Mr. Schue asked Glee one more time if someone was going to admit to writing the glist.  They were all silent.

Finn sighed.  “Seriously, Mr. Schue, whoever made that list is not going to come forward.  We might as well just bend over and take whatever’s coming.”

Puck managed not to snort out loud, but even Mr. Schue looked a little thrown off balance by the comment.  Had Finn really  _had_  to use that phrase?  

“Okay.” Mr. Schue sighed and nodded toward Felix from the A/V club, sitting in the center of the room.  Felix cued up the opening credits while Rachel rambled on about her uncultured public.  It seriously made Puck want to punch her in the face, but he maintained his cool.  He knew what was coming.  

_Look outraged when you see what she did,_  Finn had told him, and whatever, it wasn’t too hard to do that.  He didn’t give a shit how many guys Rachel wanted to date, but it wasn’t okay to lie about it.  And while the short was technically pretty good, Rachel was awful. 

“This is garbage!” Finn spat, as soon as the lights went up.  

“Finn,” Mr. Schue started, but Puck interrupted.

“No, he’s right.  I should really trust my instincts more, because I had a feeling that this was  _not_  going to be good.”

He figured that was enough, and fell silent, letting Jesse and Finn come up with the rest of the words.  They railed on her for triplecasting the film, while Rachel had the nerve to look offended.  

“It was an artistic statement!” she said.

“No, it wasn’t,” Finn shot back.  “It was you trying to make it look like you had a bunch of guys fighting over you so you could stop looking like some kind of outcast and be seen as some hot slutty girl singer.”

Jesse rose to his feet, appearing totally hurt.  Puck had no idea how much of it was faked, but he was convincing.  “How could you do this to me?  Is your stupid reputation more important than your relationships?”

“Jesse, wait,” she pleaded, but he proceeded to execute a Berry-caliber storm-out.  Finn followed silently, not making eye contact with her.  Puck decided he wouldn’t bother joining them, partly because he was pretty comfortable and didn’t want to move, but mostly because he thought the damage was done.  And besides, he’d already let Rachel convince him to be over the top in her crummy movie; he could back off now.  

Kurt rested a hand on his thigh.  “I hope it worked,” he whispered.

It appeared to have done  _something._ Rachel spent the rest of the class in distraught silence, and as soon as Glee was over, nobody tried to stop her from leaving.  But Puck could see Finn standing out in the hallway, waiting for her.  He made his way across the choir room and listened by the door while the two of them stared stupidly at one another.

“What  _was_  that?” Finn said.  “Was that some commentary on my relationships?  Or were you trying to be ironic about cheating?  Because I think, either way, it fell kind of flat.”

“I don’t know.”  She tried to reach out for him, but he took a step away, shaking his head.

“You need to go apologize to your boyfriend.  You don’t just do something like this, Rachel.  You  _talk_  to the people you care about.”

Puck watched her face crumple, losing it as she stumbled away from him toward the girl’s restroom.  Finn closed his eyes, leaning on the wall, and sighed.

“It’s hard to see that,” said a low voice, and Puck turned to see Quinn beside him.  She nodded at Finn.  “The way he still cares about her, after she treated him like dirt.”

“The movie wasn’t anything,” said Puck.  She shook her head.

“I’m not talking about the movie.”

“Yeah, well, I kind of think Rachel’s got a right to be pissed.  I remember she wasn’t all that thrilled to find out Finn was with us the whole time he was kind-of dating her.”

Quinn sneered.  “Rachel’s great at seeing what she wants to see, and ignoring the rest.”  But she moved restlessly around the choir room for the next minute, and Puck was pretty sure that she went straight for the girls’ restroom when she left.  

Kurt nudged his hand from behind, and Puck let their fingers interlock with a sigh of relief.

“Are you ready to go?” Kurt murmured.  

“Hell, yes.”  Puck watched Finn, standing by himself, for one more moment, then turned away.  

Kurt touched his face.  It was a rare gesture of affection for him to make at school, but even Puck could feel how much he needed it right then.

“Follow me back to my house in your truck?  Unless you need to go back to the apartment first.”

“No, I’ve got everything.”

Kurt’s hand was firm on his elbow.  It was easy for Puck to let him lead.  “Good,” Kurt said.  “Because we have something to show you at home.”

Puck didn’t ask for details, but he kind of assumed it would have something to do with sex.  But when Kurt brought him into the kitchen and opened the door to Burt’s office, he had no idea what to say.  

He walked into the bare room, looking around with unease.  “What happened?  Where’s all Burt’s stuff?”

“He moved it upstairs.  Noah…”  Kurt stopped him where he was, grasping both his elbows and holding him still.  “This is for you.  Your room.  Yours and your daughter’s.”

Puck wrestled with the anxiety that spiraled up his back and into his throat.  “I can’t…”

“My dad did this.  He wants you here.  You don’t want to live alone, and — and you don’t have to.”  He smiled, a little sadly.  “I want you with me, in my room, sweetheart, but I think this will be better for all of us.”

He was trying not to hyperventilate, but it wasn’t working very well.  

“Kurt, I can’t take this,” he said emphatically.  “This is too much.”

“It’s just a room, Noah.  That’s nothing compared to what my dad or Sarah or I have.”

“It  _is_  something _._   It’s — your dad needs this room.”

“Not as much as your baby will.”  Kurt watched as Puck paced the longest part of the room, into the dormer and back out toward the door.  “You can’t just be a guest here and expect to be an effective parent.  She’s going to need space for her things: toys, clothes, diapers, all of that.  And you’re going to need room to be her father.”

“Her Papa,” Puck replied, almost unthinking.  The words Kurt was saying made sense, and that was enough to calm him a little, even if it still felt overwhelming.  He stopped pacing.  With one hand, he braced himself against the wall, then lowered himself gently to sit on the floor in the corner.   “People don’t give me  _rooms,_  Kurt.”

“Carl did.”  Kurt crouched down beside him, reaching for his hand again.

“But that was just for a little while.  This feels — I mean, what you’re doing here…”  Puck begged him with his eyes to understand, to not make him say the words. 

Kurt sighed.  “It doesn’t have to be.  I’m not trying to ask you for anything permanent.  If it feels better, consider it an investment in making your daughter happier, which will make  _you_  happier.”  He smiled hopefully.  “Which will make  _me_  happier.”

“It’s not like I don’t  _want_  to.”  Puck stared at the white painted end table, the only piece of furniture in the room.  He thought about all the furniture that had been in his room at his Ma’s house, presumably abandoned along with everything else when the bank took possession of it.  Burt was already giving him a monthly allowance, which felt weird enough.  Was he going to try to buy him furniture, too?  “I promised you I wouldn’t try to take off again.  And this makes it feel like — maybe I might have to.”

“And you don’t want to let me down.”

Puck nodded, wincing.  Kurt’s fingers reached down and brushed his cheek.  

“If you decided to run, could you go back to Carl’s apartment?  Would that be far enough?”

He thought about it for a minute, then nodded.

“Then we’d just be back where we are now.  Which wouldn’t be so bad.  You wouldn’t be letting me down if you decided this wasn’t what you needed.  I only want you to see how it feels.”

Puck stared at the floor.  “I already know how it feels.  Crappy.”

Kurt sighed.  “It’s that hard to consider living with me?”

“It’s not  _like_  that, Kurt,” he protested, hearing his voice rising, but feeling unable to stop it.  Kurt’s hand tightened on his neck.

“What is it like, then?”

Puck was silent again.  He had no idea how to describe why it felt so bad to consider something so wonderful.

“Would you think about it, then?  The room is here, and you won’t need it for a while, but… please.”  Kurt was begging now, and that was  _awful,_  Puck really didn’t want to hear him do that.  He squirmed away from Kurt’s touch.  “Give it a little time?”

He nodded.  What could he say?  Everybody was being so nice to him, and he was just going to be an asshole in return, like he always had been.  He turned his face against Kurt’s knees and held on, and breathed through the feeling of Kurt’s hand resting on his head.

“We have a little time before dinner,” Kurt said gently.  “Do you want to come downstairs and let me cuff you to the bed for a while?”

“Yeah,” he whispered.  It really did help, even if he couldn’t have explained the reason for that, either.  Kurt helped him to his feet, kissing him, and led him away from the awful empty room.  

* * *

_(Author’s note: this scene is excerpted from_  [ _chapter 4 of Breathing Room_  ](../../524843/chapters/932394) _.  -amy)_

Blaine’s shoulders hurt from too many hours hunched over his laptop, but he had nothing to prove for it.  The half-finished English paper staring back at him was due on Friday, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to write itself, but all he could do was think about the wanting to reach into his top desk drawer and pull out the little envelope.   

The little envelope with the last of his cocaine.

Who would know, really? 

But when he did open the drawer, he could see Finn’s face, his words,  _I’m not asking you, I’m telling you._   

He rubbed his hands over his eyes, felt his contacts gritty under his eyelids.  Thought about Finn’s  _other_  words.   _Call me._  

He picked up his phone with shaking hands.  It seemed like a lot to ask of someone who was practically a stranger.   _How can he be a stranger after what he - what_ ** _you_** _\- did?_   Finn wasn’t a stranger, of course.  And god, Blaine  _needed_  him.

He picked up on the third ring, and Blaine heard rustling and muffled voices before Finn’s slightly groggy one was in his ear.  “B- Patrick? -- what’s going on?” 

“I want- um.  I have a little bit left.  The cocaine?  And I want to-”  He couldn’t make himself admit wanting to use it, because that made him feel like he had a problem, and he didn’t  _want_  to have a problem.

“Hang on... Patrick.  Okay.”  He sounded more alert, now.  “Just -- don’t do anything, all right?  Tell me what’s going on.  Where are you?”

 “I’m in my room.  Sitting at my desk trying to write this stupid paper that’s due Friday.  But I can’t do it.  All I can think about is the cocaine.  And I’m kind of, um.” He knew nobody could hear him but he let his voice fall to a whisper anyway.  “I can’t stop thinking about what we did, and maybe I’m freaking out a little.”

“That’s okay.  I got it.”  There was a burst of muffled conversation.  “I can be there in... two hours.  Can you give me directions?  I’m... um, I’m in Lima.”

_Shit_.  Lima?  “Oh.  Okay.  Yeah, directions.”  Blaine rattled off the details of the drive, and listened vaguely to Finn’s reassurances that everything would be okay, heard himself promise that he wouldn’t do anything until Finn arrived, and felt his thumb disconnect the call.

And now all he could think of was  _someone in Lima is going to find out._

He had two hours to fill, so he started by ditching his contacts for his glasses.  That took no time at all, but it got him out of his room for a few minutes, and his head felt a little clearer, so instead of settling back in at his desk he tugged a Dalton hoodie on over his sleep pants and t-shirt, shoved his iPod and keycard into the big pouch pocket and headed outside.

It was cold.  Too cold to really be out without a coat, but the slight sting of the night air in his lungs gave him something to focus on, first the bite of it as he breathed in, and then the little cloud in front of his face with every exhale.  He just sat there, watching that cloud, not letting himself think about Lima, or the repercussions of doing . . .  _what he and Finn were doing_  . . . with someone from  _home_ , until Finn arrived.

* * *

Finn sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his phone, not even sure how to handle this.  It was Kurt who put a hand on his bare shoulder and kissed him, and Puck who slid an arm around his waist, the chain jingling as it slid through his cuffs.  

“Patrick’s having a hard time?” Kurt murmured.

“Yeah,” Finn sighed.  “Not just about . . . you know.  He’s got other stuff going on, too.”

“It’s all part of that, dude,” Puck said.  “You know what he needs.  You’d better take Kurt’s car this time, though -- my truck’s having trouble, and that would suck, to be halfway to Columbus and have it break down.”

“Westerville,” Finn said absently.  “He’s at school in Westerville.”

Puck waved a hand.  “Whatever.  You don’t want to be breaking down in the middle of the night.  Can he take the Navigator, Kurt?”

Kurt nodded.  “The keys are in the front pocket of my messenger bag,” he said softly.

Kurt watched Finn get dressed in silence.  Finn tried to give him as much space as he could to work it out in his head before he brought it up, but he knew Kurt wasn’t feeling entirely easy about where things were going with Patrick.  Puck just yawned and rolled back over, pulling the covers over himself, but Finn saw Kurt waiting, thinking.  Eventually he took him by the hand and drew him, somewhat unwilling, into the bathroom.

“This isn’t going to change things between  _us_ ,” he said, trying to pull him into his arms, but Kurt stiffened and turned away from his embrace.  

“I’m not thinking about that,” Kurt muttered. 

_Yes, you are,_  thought Finn, but he wasn’t going to get into a stupid back-and-forth with Kurt.  Instead he kissed him on the forehead and waited for Kurt to finish pouting and look up at him.  

“I love you, Kurt.”  Finn watched his eyes soften, and smiled at him until he thawed.   

“Yes, I know.  I just don’t know if I can handle...  _one more person._   This is a lot, already.”

Finn nodded soberly.  “I know how it feels.  But he really needs me, and I know I can help.  It gives me something, you know?”

“I know,” he repeated, somewhat more testily, running his hands through his hair.  “I just . . .” he sighed, and turned away.  “What about what  _I_  need?”  His voice was sad, and when he turned back to Finn his eyes were downcast.

“Don’t worry about that, baby.”  Finn smiled and touched his face.  “I’ll give you what you need.”

“But you’re  _leaving_.”  Kurt was trying not to whine, but Finn could hear it seeping out of the edges of Kurt’s words.

Finn thought.  “It’s only ten o’clock in California. Why don’t you call Adam?  I’m sure he’d be happy to talk to you, and he always makes you feel... I don’t know.  Like you deserve to feel.  Special.”

Kurt’s faint, fond smile and nod told Finn that his instincts were right.  “Yeah,” Kurt said, toying with the edge of his shirt.  “Adam could do that for me.”  He caught Finn’s eyes, and held them for a minute.  “But don’t think that gets you off the hook for later.”

Finn raised an eyebrow, catching Kurt’s chin firmly in his fingers.  “Oh, yeah,” he said.  “You can bet on it.”

“Good,” Kurt nodded.  He leaned in close to Finn with a kind of wicked smile, tucking his mouth right close to Finn’s ear.  “I can think of something you could do with that flogger,” he said, his voice low, before he turned and left the bathroom.

Finn bit back a growl, because  _damn_  if Kurt didn’t know how to turn him on. He wondered, as he tried to compose himself for the drive, whether having to endure two hours in a car with a persistent hard on was his punishment for leaving in the first place.

* * *

_(Author’s note:_  [ _the rest of chapter 4 follows_  ](../../524843/chapters/932394) _from here, in which Finn and Blaine realize they have met before after all.  Finn ends up staying the night, platonically sleeping in Blaine’s bed to watch over him, but does give him a kiss.  The scene in which they met, incidentally, is in_  [ _chapter 3 of Terrific, Radiant, Humble_  ](../../289679/chapters/476878) _, when Santana and Blaine went to play at the park.  -amy)_

* * *

Finn seldom did things without thinking them through.  He almost always had reasons, and even if other people didn’t agree with those reasons, he felt like it was important to be able to back up his choices.  

Sometimes, though, his reason was simply  _because it felt right to me._   His mother usually tolerated that reason, but Finn was pretty sure she wasn’t going to tolerate it this time.  He stared at his phone, then sighed and dialed her number.

_“Uh — Finn?  Why are you calling me from downstairs?”_   She paused.   _“You’re not downstairs, are you.”_

“No.  I’m driving back from Westerville.”

_“Finn!”_

“Mom, let me explain.  First… can you call me in at school?  I don’t think I’m going to make it back in time for first hour.  If you think I deserve the unexcused absence, I’ll take it, but I’d really rather not have to explain to Coach Tanaka why I’m not there.”

_“Okay.  Yes, I’ll call you in.”_   Her voice hardened.   _“But that doesn’t let you off the hook with me, young man.”_

“I know.  I’m not trying to get out of anything.  I know what I deserve.  I just want you to understand why I did it.”

_“You could have come upstairs and woken me up before you left the house last night!  What time did you leave, anyway?  Burt and I didn’t turn off the light until after midnight.”_

“Yeah, it was around one.  Patrick — that’s the boy in Westerville, the one I met in Columbus?  He called me.  He — he needed me.”

_“You could have waited until tonight!  I would have let you go.”_

He took a deep breath.  “Mom, he’s dealing with — a drug habit.”

There was a silence.  Finn pressed on, figuring he couldn’t get in any  _more_  trouble than he already was in.

“I told him he couldn’t take the drug anymore, and if he couldn’t handle it, he should call me.  I  _had_  to go, right then.  If he trusted me enough to tell me that he —“

_“All right.  You’ve made your case.  Let me think about it while you’re at school.  Kurt can get a ride to school with Puck.  If Patrick calls you today, you’re going to call me first, before you do anything.  Anything.”_

“I got it.  I’m sorry about this.”

_“Yeah.  I understand, honey.”_

Rachel wouldn’t meet his eye when he arrived in the middle of biology.  He slid into the seat next to Puck and gave him a half-smile.  Puck just smirked.

“You get any sleep at all?” he murmured.  

“Some.  He was okay once I — uh.”  Finn closed his mouth, watching their teacher glaring at them.   When he turned around to write on the board, he whispered, “He’s still freaking out about everything, but I think… I helped.”

_Mostly._   The kiss — that had probably been a mistake.  Only it hadn’t  _felt_  like a mistake.  It had just been a way to show Blaine that he was part of things.  That what they were doing was intimate, that it meant something.  That  _Blaine_  meant something.  He just hoped he hadn’t pushed him too far.

Then he felt Puck’s knee bump against his, and he glanced up in surprise.  Puck wasn’t looking at him, but he was still grinning.

“Of course you helped.  You’re  _Finn Hudson._   Fucking superhero.”

That wasn’t how Finn felt about himself at all, but it was kind of awesome to hear it from Puck after all the shit that had gone down between the two of them.  So much was possible that  _hadn’t_  been, just a month ago.  He grinned back before looking away.   _All kinds of possible futures,_  Blaine had said.  Maybe in one of them, he really  _could_  be a superhero — the kind that could take care of everybody, the way they deserved.

* * *

Quinn looked wary when Will pulled her out of the hallway and into the choir room.  He sighed.

“I know you didn’t write the glist.”

She blinked.  “But — I never said I did.”

“No, but you set things up so that I’d inevitably decide it was you.”

Now she was staring at him.  “Why would I do that?  I’d get expelled.”  

“It makes sense,” he went on. “You’ve lost so much, Quinn.  Which means you had the most to gain from the glist.  It would be a reasonable assumption.  But do you know when I was certain you hadn’t done it?”  He narrowed his eyes at her.  “When you met Rachel in the girls’ bathroom.  Whatever you say about her, I know you care, even if it’s just a little bit.”

“You’re crazy,” Quinn said hotly.  “Berry is an obnoxious diva with delusions of grandeur.”

“And she’s hurting,” Will said gently.  “I can’t say I’m always aware of what kind of relationship dynamics are going on between all my students, but no one could have missed what happened yesterday between Jesse and Rachel.  Whatever kind of reputation she was trying for, it backfired.”

She crossed her arms in front of her.  “Maybe she realized a bad reputation is better than no reputation at all.”

“Maybe she realized the people she wanted most to notice her… already were.”

Quinn blinked, looking away, then back at Will with unexpected fervor.  “She didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“I know.”  He touched her hand.  “I hope she knows what kind of friends she has now.  But I don’t think the answer is taking the fall for her.”

Figgins appeared in the doorway of the choir room.  Will could see Quinn’s back stiffen.  “You wanted to see me, William?  Did you come up with the perpetrators of the glist?”

He stepped in front of Quinn, shaking his head regretfully.  “I’ve talked to every one of our students.  No one.  But your point has been made, right?  The glists have stopped.  I think we should just call this a victory and move on.”

Figgins’ mouth tightened.  “Fine.  I’m still praying for you, Will.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow at him as Figgins departed.  “You didn’t have to do that.  I could have dealt with Figgins.  He wouldn’t have expelled me, but Rachel doesn’t know how to be anything but enthusiastically righteous.”

Will shook his head.  “He’d find a way to make it worse for the Glee club if I let him keep hunting for an excuse to be outraged.  Better to distract him.”

She touched his arm.  Even if it wasn’t a hug, it kind of felt like one.  “The teachers are still calling you a manwhore, you know, even if that’s not true.”  Her eyes were asking a question, though she didn’t say the words.  

“It’s not true,” he agreed.

“If they knew about Toby —“

“If they knew about Toby, they’d call me other things.”  He gave her a wan smile.  “Come on.  You should get to lunch.”

* * *

Trying to get anything done on three hours of sleep made the rest of the day a lot harder, and by the time he walked into Glee, Finn was punchy and exhausted and totally not willing to deal with anybody’s shit, especially Mr. Schue’s.  But Mr. Schue was barely paying attention to Glee today.  

Rachel and Jesse, however, were on opposite sides of the room.  It looked as though he’d succeeded in breaking them up.   _Even if neither of them look happy about it._

It made him hurt to see Rachel that unhappy, but at the same time, she was definitely feeding on the energy of it when she got up and sang “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”  They barely needed prompting to fill in the Rory Dodd part among the three of them, and it felt dramatically appropriate.  Kurt even appeared to be moved.  

He was the one to approach Finn afterward, something they still barely ever did at school.  “Is everything okay?  Patrick…?”

“My mom’s pissed as all hell, but I think he’ll be okay.  I mean, he didn’t text me today.  Things were a lot better when I left this morning.”

Kurt nodded, walking beside him toward his car.  “We missed you last night.  But…”  He sighed.  “I think you did the right thing, going to be with Patrick.  Even if I was really hoping for you to come home and take care of  _me,_  I understand the difference between needing and wanting it.”

_Do you?_   Finn wasn’t at all sure that was true for Kurt, but he wasn’t going to get into it in the parking lot.  “Can you give me a ride back to your house?  My mom said she’s going to lay down the law about what happened, and I’d just as soon have you there as backup when she does.”

“Of course,” Kurt said immediately.  “Please.  You know you’re always welcome.”

Kurt gave him plenty of longing looks in the Nav on the way home, but when they got there, Burt’s truck was already in the driveway, right beside his mom’s car.  Kurt parked along the curb, clearly disappointed.

“I don’t think they’re going to let you stay.”

“Not if I’m in the kind of trouble I think I am,” he agreed.  “We’ll have to postpone… this.”  Finn reached across to the driver’s side and captured Kurt’s neck, pulling him into a deliciously passionate kiss.  He drank in Kurt’s whimpers with a smile.  “Maybe you can call me later.  We can have the kind of phone call that you and Adam have sometimes.”

“Oh,” Kurt whined, squirming on his seat.  “Now that’s just not  _fair.”_

They didn’t hold hands on the way in, just in case anybody  _was_  watching. It would serve them to keep pretending to be just friends, even if their parents were dating.  But Finn almost grabbed Kurt when he saw Burt’s expression through the front window.

“Your dad can be kind of scary sometimes,” he muttered.  Kurt squinted at him.

“He’s harmless,” he said dismissively.  “You’re way scarier than he is, Finn.”

That comment didn’t really help when it had already been made clear to him that he was in deep doo-doo.  They filed into the front hallway together, Finn immediately moving to sit at the dining room table beside his mother.  She wasn’t smiling.

“How’s Patrick doing?” she asked.

“He’s okay, I think?  I mean, I don’t really know —“

“No, you don’t.”  His mother frowned.  “This situation goes beyond ordinary teenage exploration of power exchange, Finn.  When you’re dealing with drugs, it’s an entirely different issue.  Patrick might need medical attention.  He could be dealing with symptoms of withdrawal, which, when cocaine is involved, can be serious.”

“Cocaine?”  Kurt looked a little ill.  “You didn’t tell me he was taking cocaine.”

“He’s not sick,” Finn protested, but he felt suddenly uncertain.  Maybe some of Blaine’s difficulties  _were_  due to dealing with the drugs in his system.  Maybe he’d been hurting him without realizing it.  “I don’t think he is.”

“There’s no way you could know that, Finn,” Burt said.  He looked downright angry.  Even when Burt had first found out about Kurt and Finn’s relationship, Finn didn’t remember him ever looking at him like  _that._   It sent a surge of shame through him.  “You can’t go around pretending to be in charge of a kid like this without knowing all the facts.”

_Pretending._   He tried not to flinch.  “I’m doing what feels right,” he said, but Burt cut him off again.

“You’re being irresponsible and taking advantage of your mother’s trust.  Driving at night like that, to a place where no one knows exactly where you are?  What if something had happened to you?”

“He needs to keep this private. I can’t tell anyone who — where he is!”  He shot his mother an appeal.  “Mom…”

“I’m not finished,” Burt said.

“And you’re not my father!” Finn shouted back.  Kurt shuffled back uneasily.  

“Burt’s right, Finn.”  His mother’s voice was calm, but her expression was hard.  “If we’re going to treat you like an adult, you’re still going to need to follow common courtesy and safety rules.  We’ll all be going to Tessera in a week, where you’re going to have a lot more freedom than you do here.  You’re going to need to earn that privilege back this week.  I didn’t want to do this, but you’re grounded for the weekend, Friday and Saturday.  Supervised phone only, no video games, no visits.”

It was what he’d expected, although the possibility of not being able to go to Tessera for Valentine’s Day…  He swallowed.  “I’m sorry.”

“I know.  And it’s not as though I don’t appreciate the impulse to take care of this boy who obviously needs it.  You just need to remember that you can’t always fix everything.”  She stood, pushing her chair back.  “Now, come on.  Say goodnight to Kurt. We’re going back to our house.”

Finn lingered a little longer than he probably should have with Kurt, but he wanted Kurt to know he wasn’t  _trying_ to avoid him.  Kurt was still disappointed, but he seemed more apologetic than anything else.

“We can do a weekend apart.  It won’t hurt us any, and… just think of how great the sex will be when we see each other again.” 

Finn grinned.  “I like your optimism.  And you can bet I’ll be using that flogger on you on Sunday night, if I can manage it.”

His mom drove him home in reproachful silence.  When they pulled into the garage, she turned off the car and continued to sit there.

“Are you disappointed in me?” he asked quietly.

“Finn, you know that’s not an easy question to answer.  I’m disappointed you put this boy before your prior obligations.  It’s clear you’re not respecting my authority, or Burt’s.”  She held out her hand.  “Your phone.”  He handed it over to her, and she tucked it into her purse.  “If you want to make a call, you’ll need to tell me.  But I want you to know I’ve already talked to Carl about this.”

“You —  _what?”_   He stared at her, aghast.  She climbed out of the car and walked around to the door, unlocking it, and he was still staring.  “ _Mom!”_

She wasn’t even looking at him.  “I’m clearly not an adequate authority figure anymore, but I can’t stand by and watch you damage your relationships with your family.  I’m passing the buck, Finn, to somebody you’ll listen to.”

“But… I’m grounded,” he said weakly, following her inside.

“I think we can make an exception for this.  He’s cleared his schedule after school on Friday.”  She glanced back, still not smiling.  “Take the bus right home afterward.  I’ll be waiting here for you.”

* * *

It had been a shitty week, and it was looking to be another shitty one the following week.  Toby knew that teaching the Carmel kids wasn’t functionally all that different from teaching his students at the School for the Arts in Denver had been.  While their talent might not be as uniformly high, these kids were used to high expectations, and they were willing to work.  The difference was that he didn’t know them — and they didn’t know him.  No matter how much he put into his job, it wasn’t paying off, and probably wouldn’t for another couple years.  This was his investment year, and it was fucking exhausting to do it without Will.  

The first person to show up for Thursday afternoon office hours was Wade.  He was a freshman, talented and enthusiastic, with a stunning breathy voice that reminded Toby a little bit of his own at that age, but definitely on the weak side when it came to dance.  He’d distinguished himself during Toby’s initial audition by admitting he was scared to partner dance.  Toby had been impressed by that, in a room full of cutthroat talent.  Wade might be sensitive, but he was no coward.  

He gestured toward the chair beside his desk.  “How can I help you, Wade?”

Wade gave him a tentative smile, settling in the chair.  “Mr. Grey… I’m having — a problem in VA.”  He paused, watching him, and Toby nodded encouragement.  “I didn’t feel like I could talk about it with Ms. Corcoran or Mr. Stanley.  I don’t know if you can help me, but… I thought maybe you might understand, a little.”

“Yeah?  I can surely try, darlin’.  I can tell you I’m a good listener.”  He smiled encouragement back.  “I’ve seen and done a world of things, and I ain’t fallen to pieces yet.”

Wade’s laugh was more embarrassed than humorous.  “I don’t even know how to say this.  Do you know how, inside, when you’re dancing, you kind of become… someone else?”

Toby nodded thoughtfully.  “Do you mean someone who’s not afraid?  Puttin’ on that courage, like a coat?”

“Maybe?” Wade shrugged.  “I have this… this story I tell myself, when I dance.  That I can be this other person, a person who — who looks and acts the way I see myself.  In my head.  Only the problem is about partnering.  Because…”  He bit his lip.  “Because, in my head, I’m not the one doing the lifting.   _I’m_  the one being lifted.”

“You’re being lifted?”

“Because I’m… the girl.”

“Oh.”  Toby blinked.  “ _Oh!_   Yes.  That kind of someone else.”  He looked at Wade with different eyes, seeing the anxious tension in his —  _her_  shoulders.  “I do understand, a little.”

Wade let out a sigh of relief.  “I thought you might.  Because you’re gay?”

“That’s right.  I’ve had some transgender friends.  Although I know it’s still not the same as feelin’ it myself.”  He leaned forward.  “Wade, do you think you might want to talk to somebody about this?  Somebody who would  _really_  understand?  Somebody who’s dealin’ with the same stuff you are?”

Her eyes were round.  “Do you know someone like that?”

“Not around here.  But I have connections.”  Toby didn’t often choose to think about his years at the shelter in Louisville, but he was certain they’d know organizations that could refer him to the right people.  He reached across the desk, offering his hand, and Wade took it, smiling in surprise.  “No sense in doin’ things alone when there’s folks who can help, right?”

They exchanged email addresses, with an agreement that Toby would find out what he could and let Wade know.  But he had scarcely bid goodbye to Wade before he heard another knock on his door.  This time, however, it wasn’t a student.  It was Will, standing there with a bouquet of flowers.  

Toby ignored the leaping in his heart and schooled his face, taking a seat at his desk.  “Will.”

Will’s own face fell at Toby’s reaction, but he edged through the door anyway, shutting it behind himself.  “Um… these are for you.”

He nodded reluctantly, taking the flowers and setting them aside.  “They’re lovely.  Thank you.”

Will sank down into a chair and sighed.  “I — I messed up, Toby.  I think in all this ‘discovering who I am’ business, I took a few wrong turns.  And I get how those detours might have hurt you.  But that’s not who I am — who I want to be.”

It hurt to hear those words from Will. It wasn’t only because he’d heard them from Will before, had heard him say over and over  _I can change_ , but because of what Toby himself had done.  He closed his eyes.

“I know what’s supposed to happen now, darlin’,” he said.  “I’m supposed to smile and to be impressed by how in touch you are with your feelings and moon over the fact that you care about me so much, but… I can’t.”

“Toby, this is killing me,” Will burst out.  “I want you to look at me the way you used to.”

“I can’t,” he repeated firmly.  “But this is a good thing.  You know, if this relationship is ever going to work, we have to start seeing each other for who we really are.”  He fixed his gaze on Will.  “You ain’t the only one who’s been unhappy.  This new job, new place, new  _life,_  it don’t feel much like home.  Not yet.  And I — went lookin’ for something familiar.”

Will closed his mouth.  He blinked, looking away.  “Oh.  You —?”

“Yeah.  I’m not in love with him, and it was foolish, because I think he’s got feelings for me.  I’m not proud about what I did, Will, but I was so  _jealous.”_   He gazed at the flowers on his desk and sighed.  “Jealous of Emma, because she’s got you nearby.  You really hurt her, too, you know that?”

“I don’t think we’re talking about Emma.”  Will was standing up, his face closed.  “I don’t — I don’t know what we’re talking about.  I was all set to come in here and —“

“And what?  Fix it?  It ain’t that simple, Will, and you know it.”  Toby leaned back in his chair and nodded.  “Thank you for the flowers.  And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

He let Will walk out slowly, without another word.  It was just about all he could to not to get up and run after him, to grab his arm and kiss him and beg him to come home with him.  

_But he ain’t the only one who fucked up, here.  You’ve got to drink your own medicine, Tobias.  And it might as well be a full dose._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn gets his punishment for driving to Westerville in the middle of the night. Kurt reassures Puck. The boys are summoned to Carl's office after school. Will and Emma make up. Toby takes Wade to her first PFLAG meeting, and they both meet Chris, before Toby gets some bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's exciting to see some of the more subtle elements begin to emerge in this story. I loved rewatching each episode as I was writing; just as with the music inspiration, it made it a richer experience to see all the little details. I'm inspired by the constraints of canon, and I won't abandon them… exactly. Every piece is a surprise as I write it. Thank you for going along with my wild ride. 
> 
> Warnings in this chapter for fairly severe physical discipline and references to Finn's training regimen. Also, I'm so excited to introduce a new character — one of my favorites, and one you'll see on the show in season 2. Enjoy! 
> 
> -amy

Taking the bus to Carl's office on Friday after school felt like a march from a jail cell to the firing line. It had never felt like that before, not even when he knew he'd done something wrong and was going to get disciplined for it. He couldn't quite figure out why this was different, but it weighed on him the entire ride downtown. Of course, it didn't help to know he wasn't going to get to see Carl at all this weekend, or Blaine.

Angela was waiting by the door when he got off the bus. He could see her through the glass front window all the way down the street as he walked from the bus stop, a half-block from Carl's building. She looked sympathetic, and he felt an irrational rush of anger at the situation.

"Does everybody know I fucked up?" he demanded. She shrugged, locking the door behind him.

"I think  _everybody_  is a matter of debate."

He was already annoyed at himself for losing his temper with Angela. "I'm sorry. Of course he doesn't keep secrets from you."

She laughed, sounding genuinely surprised. "Finn, of  _course_  he does. I'm not his counselor, nor his friend. I'm his  _slave."_

"You say that like he doesn't care about you," he protested, but she shook her head, still smiling.

"I know that's not true at all. It's just an entirely different kind of relationship. Consensual, yes, but don't think for a moment that it's egalitarian, or that I would ever want it to be. Dr. Howell's a demanding mentor, but this meets my needs just as it does his. We both get something out of the relationship, something important, that we wouldn't get from being friends."

He could feel his forehead furrowing as he tried to take this in. "Do you — have you ever been his friend?"

"That relationship never existed between us. I think it could have been possible, if I'd not asked for this contract. But that doesn't matter. You're going to have to believe me when I say this is what both of us want." She gestured at the back hallway. "He's waiting for you in his office."

Finn could feel every one of the artistically framed close-up photos of disciplinary tools regarding him on the walk to Carl's office, as though they were staring at him. Judging him.  _What kind of Top are you?_  the flogger seemed to say disapprovingly.  _You can't even make good choices for your boy._

_But he's still_ my _boy,_  Finn thought, clenching his jaw.  _I get to make that decision, even if I end up getting into trouble. And am I really arguing with a stupid picture?_

He hesitated for one minute in the hallway outside Carl's office, his hand resting on the wood frame, and then took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Carl was sitting on the brick hearth, gazing into the fire. He didn't turn around as Finn entered.

"Do you want something to drink?"

"No thank you, sir," Finn said. He was about to say something else, but he thought better of it and just waited, watching Carl for any kind of a cue as to what he should do. He didn't have to wait long.

"Come sit down on the couch, Finn."

Carl reached for the poker and inserted it carefully between the drapes of the heavy iron curtain that hung before the hearth. The flames leapt up at his touch, and Finn watched him hungrily.  _I know how they feel._

"I'm —" He wanted so much to say he was sorry, to be back in Carl's good graces, and everybody else's. But it wouldn't be true. He just sighed. "Everybody seems to be angry at me, but… I don't actually think I made a bad choice."

Carl nodded decisively. "Me, either."

"What?" Finn blinked.

He set the poker down on the fireplace before turning around. Finn watched the light glint off the handle.

"What do you mean?" he persisted. "Then why am I here?"

Carl walked over and sat down on the edge of the coffee table, facing him. "Do you remember what I told you about who I was when I met Tess?"

Finn nodded. "You were in the Army, but you didn't want to be."

"I wasn't a recruit. I made a choice to join the ROTC as an undergraduate. When you become an officer like that, people have certain expectations of you, of the kind of person you'll be. You have to be responsible not only for other soldiers, but also for duties, administrative and otherwise."

He paused. Finn nodded again, not exactly understanding where this was going.

"You're good at that stuff, sir," he said.

Carl could not hide a wry smile. "I am now. I… was not, then. Being an officer, being in the Army at all, was a challenge, and one I wasn't willing to meet. By the time Tess got involved, I'd largely given up. I was doing little more than the bare minimum, and not with very much grace — and on top of that, I was doing everything I could get away with." He snorted. "Every _one_  I could get away with."

"You?" Finn felt baffled, and a little uneasy, but Carl just nodded calmly.

"Doesn't sound very much like me, does it."

"Well, no. But I guess… I mean, I can imagine that Tess… that she helped with that?"

Carl shook his head. "Actually, no. Not very much; not at the beginning. Consider that I didn't have any reason to trust her. Just because she saw something in me that told her I'd respond to disciplinary practices didn't mean that I had any idea about that, myself, or even believed in what she was doing." He tightened his focus abruptly, and Finn found himself leaning forward to listen. "But I believed in  _her._  That she saw something in me that was worth that kind of time and energy, even if I didn't see it in myself… that made me listen to her, to do what she told me to do, even if I didn't know why. And, eventually, to start to develop my own discipline."

He reached over and put a hand on Finn's knee. Finn looked at the hand. His breath was coming fast now, as though the air had suddenly become too thin. He wanted to take the hand and hold on, but he waited.

"You, Finn. You're not starting where I did. You came to the table with a sense of yourself that I never had as a boy. You have confidence and intuition and leadership qualities — all things I had to develop over years of attention and hard work. Trust me, my ass paid the price for my missteps." His lip twitched. "Still does, with some regularity."

Finn shook his head. "I don't understand…"

"You've always had someone who believed in you. Someone who trusted that you would follow through on what you said you would do, and even when you did not, listened to you and offered you respect anyway. In my experience, that's rare." He squeezed Finn's leg. "Now, I don't know Patrick very well, but I suspect he didn't have someone like that growing up."

Finn thought of Blaine, that first time in the bathroom at Irene's coffee shop, saying  _it never feels like I have enough people._  The protective rush of emotion he felt surprised him. He looked up at Carl. "Yeah. He doesn't have anybody like that now, either. It's like I told my mom; he needs somebody to be there for him when he can't deal with it on his own."

"You know I don't disagree. You can be that person for Patrick." Carl's face was solemn as he reached up to take Finn's chin. "But he is not the only person who depends on you. And I'm not talking about Puck or Kurt."

He moistened suddenly dry lips. "I —"

"When you're in charge of somebody, you worry about them. All the time. You  _know_  this, Finn. Trust me, your mother spends at least fifteen minutes in the course of every day wondering if you're dead in a ditch somewhere, and trying to figure out how she'd go on with her life if you were." He ran his fingertips lightly over Finn's jaw. "She listens to you. She deserves to be given the same courtesy." Carl's fingers suddenly slid around his neck, gripping tight enough to make breathing difficult. "And you  _will_  not leave town again without telling her  _precisely_  where you are going."

"Sir," Finn choked, but Carl had already let him go. He pointed at the wall beside the fireplace without a trace of a smile.

"You took care of your boy. That was the right thing to do. But you made some pretty egregious errors getting there, not the least of which was driving away in the middle of the night, alone. If you'd have called me, I would have gone with you and waited while you gave Patrick what he needed, then taken you home again." He was taking Finn's arms and positioning them along the bricks as he spoke, nudging his hips and taking Finn's jeans down without a pause. "And keep in mind, we're not even addressing the fact that you put someone's property on YouTube without their permission."

"But she thanked K—  _ow!"_ Finn had to twist his head around to see what Carl had struck him with, because it wasn't anything like a paddle or a flogger. It had a whippy quality to it, and it sounded like a ruler, but… and then, suddenly, the afterburn hit like a hot poker. "Oh,  _fuck."_

"This is only about the trip to Westerville." Carl calmly repositioned Finn as he shied away from whatever he was holding. "You'll answer to the rest after this weekend is over. Take a deep breath, now, and let it out."

It was almost exactly what he had said to Blaine, but this was no open-handed spanking. It made him want to cry, the pain was so intense. "Carl," he protested.

" _Quiet."_  The order was not barked like Lieutenant Howell would have done it, but murmured gently. Finn closed his mouth, trying to still the quivering of his lip. "I trust you know I take no pleasure in this, boy — and nor will you."

Finn had no hope of getting through this punishment without crying; he could tell that after three strokes. By the fourth he was actively trying to get away from Carl's strokes; by the fifth, he was begging. Carl stopped there, one warning hand resting in the center of Finn's back. Finn was sweating through his shirt, but he could barely think about that. A word surfaced on his lips, and he kept it inside just long enough to consider what it would feel like to have a sixth stroke on top of the existing fiery, pulsating mass of his backside.

"Waterfall."

Carl's response was immediate. He stepped in against Finn's body, supporting him under his arm as he let Finn sag onto his shoulder, waiting while he shuddered and moaned.  _God,_ it hurt. Carl didn't move one inch away from him, but he wasn't making any effort to comfort him, either.

"This is what's going to happen," he said. "I'm going to wait right here with you, just like this. Then I'm going to give you one more stroke with this cane, and that'll be the end. You'll rest here on my couch until the four-twenty-two bus arrives. Then you'll go home, and I'll look forward to your call on Sunday after five. Is that clear, Finn?"

Finn closed his eyes.

"I'm going to need a response."

He wondered what would happen if the response were  _fuck no, get the hell away from me._  But what he wanted was so far from that, he couldn't even consider saying it. He wanted the exact opposite of that: for Carl to wrap him up in his arms and never let go. But he couldn't ask for that, either. In the end, he just nodded, and replaced his hands on the wall, appreciating the scratch of the brick against his palms. He heard the shudder of Carl's own sigh. It was the first sign Carl had given that this was affecting him in any way.

_But of course it is,_  Finn thought, with a flush of appalled shame.  _It's affecting him more, because he agreed to take care of me, and this is what he's deciding I need._

"I'm sorry," he cried, before the cane even struck, but he didn't flinch away from it, felt it penetrate, and dropped his head to rest on the wall. Carl stepped away, returned to his desk, opened the drawer where he kept his tools and put the tool away before walking toward the door. He paused there, looking back at Finn.

"It's not standard protocol," Carl said, his voice unsteady, "but things have never been standard with us, Finn, not in any sense. And I am…" He took a careful breath. "I am  _so_  proud of you right now."

The door closed behind him with a gentle  _click._

The room felt so much more lonely after Carl left. It was easy to imagine sinking down on the couch and crying until he fell asleep, or even going after him, seeking comfort. But Finn wasn't going to ask for that today. It was enough to know he'd done the right thing, at least in Carl's eyes. He picked up his jeans and struggled into them, easing them over his legs and bottom. He'd be standing on the ride home, no matter how many seats were available.

It wasn't until he was aboard the sparsely populated bus, pointed back toward his side of town, that Finn found himself unable to hold back a couple embarrassing, messy sobs — and he was pretty sure they had absolutely nothing to do with how much his backside hurt.

* * *

Cory and Duncan both had colds, which meant Puck was in charge of making them blow their noses. There was apparently some kind of magic involved in holding the tissue for them and coaching them to make elephant noises that Kurt couldn't fathom, but Puck didn't seem to mind handling it.

"It doesn't gross me out," he said, shrugging, when Kurt reacted with horror and nausea to Cory's flowing mucus. "Puke, diapers, whatever. It's all just body stuff."

"I'm going to take your word for it and stick to doing the dishes," Kurt informed him.

Puck forced both children into a steamy bath for half an hour, and by the time they put the kids to bed, they were both breathing freely. Neither one had much stamina for stories, which told Kurt that they probably really were under the weather.

"I'm going to get sick, too." He washed his hands a fifth time while Puck cleaned up the paper scraps from their boat-making craft extravaganza. Puck had related this story using a folded paper boat which involved ripping the boat to shreds. Duncan had made him tell it six times in a row, laughing maniacally each time the boat capsized.

"I'll make you chicken soup, if you do," Puck offered. "Or miso, if you like that better."

Kurt smiled, leaning over to kiss him. "I'd like anything you made, sweetheart."

Puck paused in sweeping under the table. "That thing you said the other day about us, getting tested." He glanced at Kurt. "Do you think we might… get sick? Doing the stuff we do?"

"I think there's some kind of a risk, being with Adam the way we are. I mean, we're the ones who are being risky here. Finn's not really doing anything with Carl that's putting us at major risk, but for all we know, Adam's sleeping with a different guy every weekend."

"Nah. I mean… you think so?" Puck looked skeptical. "Maybe when he starts his tour, he might, but… I think he'd say something. It's not like we'd get upset." He peered at Kurt. "Right?"

"Sure. Yes — I mean, no. No." The thought was mildly distressing, but Kurt was pretty certain Puck was right. Adam would tell them if there was somebody else. Probably. He shook his head. "I can't worry about that. It just makes things more complicated than they need to be. He's coming to see us in a week, and that's enough for now."

Puck was quiet, puttering around the house moving things back to where they should be. Kurt knew it was usually a calming activity for him, but in this instance, he wasn't sure it was working. Eventually, he approached Puck and put a hand on his lower back, resting it there with intent. Puck stopped what he was doing and took a slow breath, closing his eyes.

"Do you know I love you?" Kurt asked gently. Puck nodded. "And do you know I'd take care of you, if anything happened to you?"

"I'm not worried about  _me,"_  Puck said. He sounded a little surprised by the idea. "I just — you know, I guess I didn't think about how the kind of stuff I do could hurt… other people. People like you, or Finn." He frowned. "Or — my kid. Or Quinn."

Kurt slid an arm around his waist, letting Puck lean on him. "She's been thoroughly examined all year, Noah, by more doctors than I'm sure she's comfortable with. I suspect if there was anything wrong with Quinn, you'd know by now. And your daughter… it's always a wait-and-see, but last you heard, everything was fine, right?"

"She just had her 28 week visit." Puck shrugged. "I guess? Maybe I should be paying more attention to those tests and stuff. All I remember is she's got freaking  _eyelashes_  now." He gave Kurt a helpless grin, and Kurt smiled back.

"Have you been thinking about names?"

"I told Sarah she was going to have to help me pick, because all the names I've come up with so far made her punch me in the arm. I mean, what's wrong with a rock'n'roll name? Better to be named after something badass than a freaking Disney princess or some shit." He sighed, moving to the couch and sitting on the edge, like he wasn't quite sure how to relax. "But I guess I feel like picking a name too soon is kind of like a jinx, you know? I'm waiting. Whatever happens, we'll figure something out." He glanced around restlessly. "Did the kids brush their teeth?"

"Noah," Kurt murmured. He took Puck's face in his hands and kissed him until he went soft and loose and pliant. "You're doing everything right."

"No," he whispered, his eyes a little wild, "no, I'm not. I can't figure out how I'm going do this, Kurt."

He stroked Puck's head gently, trying to calm him down. "Do what?"

Puck shook his head, quick and violent. "Be a  _good papa."_

"All right." Kurt gave up on the gentle. He put a hand on Puck's shoulder, pushing him hard into the seat of the couch, then climbing on top of him, staring down at him. Puck looked utterly terrified. "I've had about enough of this whining. Do you think I have a good father?"

"You — yeah!" Puck sounded startled, then at Kurt's glare, he amended hastily, "Yes sir."

"Yes. He's fabulous, even if he makes shitty eggs. So do you think I'm a good judge of what makes a good father?"

Puck just stared at him, until Kurt leaned over, pressing his nose against Puck's.

"Do you?"

"Yessir!" Puck gulped. Kurt felt almost guilty at the degree of satisfaction he got at making Puck respond that fast.

"You're completely right. I do. So you will  _believe_  me when I tell you  _you're_  going to be a  _good father."_

Kurt punctuated his words with little pokes to Puck's chest. Each one made Puck jerk back a little more, releasing a bit more tension each time, until he just deflated with an uneasy laugh.

"If you say so?"

"Fucking  _right_  I say so," snapped Kurt. Puck's smile widened, and he relaxed still more.

"Would you promise me something, baby?"

Kurt sat up, both hands still on Puck's chest. "Probably."

"If I ever start being a total asshole again —  _especially_  to my kid — will you call me on it?" He flushed, looking away. "In a way that, uh, I'll hear?"

Kurt couldn't help himself; he had to kiss Puck again, savoring his shudders. He took his cheeks in both hands. "I promise, Noah. You can count on it."

* * *

_(Author’s note: while Finn is grounded on Saturday, Carl goes to Columbus alone.  He talks to Patrick about his dreams about the boy from the club, and they exchange real names. You can read about it in_ [_chapter 5 of Breathing Room_  ](../../524843/chapters/932396) _. -amy)_

* * *

Finn woke Sunday morning to a knock on his door. "Finn, you've got a text from Carl."

Her voice sounded a little odd, so he didn't hesitate to scramble out of bed and throw on his robe before opening the door. She pressed the phone into his hand, stepping away as she did so.

"Bring it downstairs when you… just bring it downstairs. I'll make breakfast." She flickered her eyes down to his lower portion. "Do you need more salve?"

There was something unbelievably weird about his mother asking him about the welts left by Carl's caning, but at the same time he was genuinely grateful. The marks, which had looked ugly and red and scary as fuck by the time he'd gotten home, had faded to pale stripes once he'd applied the smelly, goopy stuff his mom had handed him.  _Don't worry about using it up,_  she'd said firmly, and he'd listened. He hadn't asked how she'd known he'd needed it, and he wasn't really sure he wanted to know. He'd accepted the glass of cold water she'd handed him, too, then had closed himself in his room and not emerged for fourteen hours.

"I'm a lot better, thanks," he said. "I don't think I —" Then he looked at the message on his phone, and froze. "Uh. Mom? Did you read —"

"I'm sorry," she moaned, putting a hand over her face, "I didn't  _mean_  to, I just — it was there, and I wanted to make sure it wasn't important, and — Finn, aren't you worried about somebody  _seeing_  that kind of message on your phone?"

He couldn't look at her. "I used to have it password protected, but I didn't think I'd have time to unlock it if Patrick texted."

She took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay. It's fine. I'm not going to…" Then she shook her head and looked up at him imploringly. "Yes, I am. Finn, are you sure this is okay with you? This level of… of  _control?_ "

Finn rolled his eyes, but he steeled himself and nodded, with emphasis. "Mom… he's really not doing anything I don't want. I mean, if anything, he's making me wait. That's… that's what this is about. This… discipline." He glanced over at his dresser, where the hickory-wood box sat, gleaming. "It was a birthday present. I'm not… we're not, um." He bit his lip. "Not for a whole year. Until I'm eighteen."

His mother was listening carefully, but at that, she made a little surprised noise, and looked again at the box. "Finn… a year?"

He looked at the floor. "Yeah."

"You think… do you expect you'll still want —"

"Mom," he begged. "Please don't make me think about this any more than I  _already am."_

Now her expression was almost sympathetic. She sighed. "Okay. I'll back off. But you're going to tell me  _immediately_  if it starts to feel uncomfortable, or — or like something you don't want."

"I promise. Just… please don't read my texts again, okay?"

She looked like she was stifling a smile. "I'll do my best. Breakfast in ten."

It was enough of a promise. He believed she hadn't meant to, but that didn't stop him from having to relive, over and over, the torture of imagining his mother reading the words  _You'll insert the #4 plug before breakfast, but if it arouses you, remove it and try again after lunch._

It was enough to make the process completely unerotic for the first time, and when he went down for breakfast, he did it with the plug inside him.

His mother seemed to have recovered her composure, but she also looked way more curious than he was willing to deal with. He kept his attention on his plate of waffles, methodically eating them bite by bite until they were gone.

"Do you suppose Carl would like to come over for dinner this week?"

Finn looked up, surprised, but his mother was just watching him with mild interest. "I, um. Maybe? I mean, I could ask him."

"Maybe Puck would make a nice dinner. It would be — good, for all of us to eat a meal together before next weekend."

_Before we all spend a weekend together at Tessera._  He nodded. "That's probably true." Then he added, as an afterthought, "Thank you."

"I don't have anything against him, Finn." She tilted her head. "I just want to be sure you're not being taken advantage of. This level of power over —"

"Mom, I  _want_  him to have power over me," Finn said loudly. It drove her to silence.

"I get that, honey," she said quietly. "I really, really do."

"He would stop if I told him to," he insisted. "And I have. He's  _good_  to me. He's —" He had to bite down on a sob. "He's so good  _for_  me. Kurt and Puck both think so too, so I'm not totally insane, I swear."

His mom smiled. "I know you're not." She looked a little more calm now. "I don't think you would consciously choose something you thought was going to harm you. I just don't think a sixteen-year-old can really ever have an equitable relationship with a man thirty years his senior."

"That'd matter more if I  _wanted_  an equitable relationship." He looked meaningfully at her, and waited for her to nod. "You're really okay with me having somebody else in charge of me?"

She nodded again, more slowly this time. "I don't think I expected you to stay a child forever, Finn. I'd be okay with you having any kind of partner, as long as it satisfied you."

"And you trust me to speak up if I'm freaking out?" he pressed. She nodded. "Well, then, I don't think you can make the decision that this is bad for me."

"I'm not saying it is." But she obviously wasn't pursuing it further, and eventually the conversation wound down to small talk. Finn took his dishes into the kitchen.

When the doorbell rang, he paused, deciding to wait in the kitchen until his mom said something. He was technically still grounded. But his mom called his name anyway, and when he responded to the call, he found Rachel Berry standing in his front hall, her face blotchy and red with tears. He looked at his mom, and she frowned, but gestured to her.

"Not too long," she said, and left them alone.

"I'm sorry," Rachel said immediately, staring at his robe. "I don't have to — I'm just so —"

"Hey," he said quietly, and opened his arms. She went into them, huddling against him with desperate little whimpers. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to comfort her, stroking her hair and shushing her and waiting for her shaking to stop. But all too quickly, she pulled away again. "Rach, it's okay."

"You're —" she said, blushing, and looked away. "You're naked under there."

He wasn't going to say  _No, I'm wearing a pair of underwear, because it still feels totally weird to have this plug in without them on._ "Do you want me to get dressed?" She nodded, still embarrassed, but Finn smiled encouragingly. "Be right back."

Pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt gave him an opportunity to consider why he was being so nice to Rachel when she'd ditched him for Jesse, but he felt comfortable with the answer by the time he got back downstairs. She was still waiting in his front hall, leaning against the wall, and looked up expectantly when he arrived.

"Would you tell me why you're here?" he asked.

She grimaced. "Finn, I'm sorry. I wanted to at least say that, no matter what happens."

"Apology accepted." He waited, watching her fuss and twist her hands, looking around herself for something to hold on to, but he wasn't offering. Not yet.

"I wanted you to know, I really wasn't trying to make a comment on your relationships with my Run Joey Run video. I respect your right to be happy, Finn."

"Thanks."  _Big of you, Rach._  But he couldn't help but smile, shaking his head. "I am. Happy."

She nodded, clearly miserable, and although he would have been lying if he'd said that he didn't take a mean kind of pleasure in her discomfort, he wasn't going to drag this on much longer.

"I'm seeing this guy," he said. "A boy at another school." He wasn't going to qualify the difference between taking care of Blaine and being his boyfriend, because he was pretty sure Rachel wouldn't understand. She was startled, but nodded. "I told him that, in addition to the three other guys I'm dating, that I kind of have a girlfriend."

She stared at him. Then her stubborn I-want line appeared between her eyebrows.

"What?" she demanded. "Who? Is it Quinn?"

"No!" He laughed. "Rachel, I meant you."

Now she was really at a loss. "But we're not…"

He sat down on the bench beside the door, and she sank down beside him. "I don't really know  _why_  I said that to him. Except… I guess, even after all the crap between us this month, I must still want it. Want… to be your boyfriend."

She blinked at him. He thought for a moment that she might cry. "I… I don't know, Finn. I think I should… think this over. I mean, I've just had a traumatic breakup, and as much as I appreciate the value of drama in my life to inspire me musically, I just… I don't know if I can deal with the  _number_  of people involved here. Meaning more than two." She bit her lip, pleading with her eyes. "I really don't think I'm cut out to be anything less than somebody's one and only."

"I got that." He wondered if he should feel disappointed, but all he felt was a sense of patient control. Rachel would either come around, or she wouldn't, and either one was okay with him. He smiled, watching her react.

"You know," she said, with a quiet laugh, "that t-shirt and sweatpants thing on you isn't much better than the robe."

He shrugged. "Does that mean I shouldn't offer a hug?"

"Oh — no. It doesn't mean —" Before she'd even finished speaking, she was nestled close against him. As he put his arms around her again, he could feel her quivering response to being so close to his body. He knew how that felt. It was just the way it was for him, when he was in Carl's arms, or Puck's, or Kurt's. He brushed his lips over her hair, and she let out a shaky breath.

"You should probably go," he murmured. "I'm technically still grounded."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I probably should." She tipped her face up to his. "I'm sorry, Finn. Again. I don't know if I'll ever stop saying it, just… for so many things."

"Don't worry." He let her go, squeezing her hands. "You and me, we're okay."

"Yeah?" Her smile was a lot calmer now. Finn knew how that could be, too; body contact relaxed him just as much.

"Yeah. I'm your friend, Rachel, whatever happens." He realized he actually meant that, and her grateful smile showed him that she knew it.

"Finn," came his mom's voice from the family room. It didn't sound upset, but Rachel scrambled for the door anyway.

"Thank you," she mouthed. Then she called, "Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson."

"Bye, Rachel," his mom called back. She waved, flashing a grateful smile, and hurried down the steps to her car. Finn watched her go. When he turned around, his mom was standing there, watching him warily.

"Did I hear you say you and Rachel are dating again?"

"She turned me down," he informed her. She raised an eyebrow.

"You don't seem too miffed."

He tugged on the string to open the slats on the blinds, switching off the porch light from the night before. "Rachel's going to do what she wants to do, mom. I can't do much about that."

But that wasn't quite true, either. He'd seen the way she responded to every word he said, even more than usual. His intuition told him it was because she was lonely, reaching for something familiar after what had happened with Jesse.  _She wants me,_  he thought, and it was true, no matter what she decided to do about it. And that meant he was the one with the power in this situation — and he'd come pretty damn close to abusing it. It made him a little uneasy.

Finn went and stood close to where his mother was working, her most recent yarn project spread out on the new coffee table in the family room.

"I'm still not used to seeing all the new furniture," he said, when she looked up. "It looks a little funny next to dad's old chair. I mean…" He sighed, rubbing his neck. "Sorry. It wasn't really his chair, was it?"

His mom shook her head. "It just happened to be in that picture. He came by the apartment to visit you a couple times. There's a reason why we don't have any other pictures of the two of you together. I wish I'd kept your baby book, but I gave it to —" She cut herself off, staring at her lap. "It doesn't really matter, I guess. I have memories. I don't need pictures to remember what you looked like."

_Or her,_  Finn wanted to say, but it looked like memories might be a little too painful to poke at right now. It was a strange feeling, to realize how much he'd gotten wrong about his own first year of life. He tried to imagine  _that woman_  sitting in the chair, holding him the way his father was in the picture.

"So… I never had a father, huh?" he said at last. "Not one that mattered."

She shook her head again. The sadness on her face hurt his heart. "He — he really was a good man, Finn. It wasn't anyone's fault, what happened."

_What happened?_  he wanted to ask, but he didn't. He just nodded.

"Do you wish you'd done it differently?" he asked instead. "Looking back on… being a mom, by yourself, the way you did it?"

Her smile was grim. "I won't lie. Being a single parent… it was really, really hard. My parents weren't at all happy with me choosing to keep you instead of giving you up for adoption. I was learning to think for myself for the first time ever, and I was — well, I suppose I was trying to be my own boss, instead of letting my father or anybody else do it for me."

"Being in charge of yourself," he murmured. He cocked his head. "Because you wanted to be, or because you thought you should be?"

Finn was pretty sure he wasn't imagining the quiver in his mom's lower lip as she considered the question. "Because I was sick of the alternative, I suppose. But… I was also terrified to let myself have what I wanted. I decided I would rather be judged for being a single parent than for being a — for having a black female lover. Nobody would have understood what we were doing, Finn."

He wasn't sure how to recognize the weight of the sacrifices she'd made for him, how to let her know he  _understood_  what that felt like, even if he hadn't ever been a father himself.

"You do what you have to," he said, "when you're responsible for somebody."

She nodded, her smile a little easier now. "And I was so glad to be your mother, Finn. I loved you so much, it never felt like a burden. I had to be with you; that was the only thing I thought about."

Finn spent the rest of the morning in the basement playing his drum kit. He'd finished his homework yesterday, and video games were off limits, and there was only so much enjoyment he got out of reading for fun without Puck or Kurt there to read with. He brought the picture that Cory had drawn for him, the one of Puck's "not-borned-yet" child, and stuck it on the edge of the snare with a piece of tape. Whenever he struck the drum, the picture vibrated a little, but it stayed there, Cory's almost-three-year-old crayon figure of a person he'd never met — a person that Puck already loved, maybe more than he himself could comprehend.

He took a deep breath, reaching out to touch the edge of the paper. He'd done it once before, when he'd thought she was his. There was no reason he couldn't do it again.

"Hi," he whispered. "I'm… I'm not your papa, but… um. I know him, your papa. He's my — my best friend. So I guess you and me, we're going to be… something." He felt like an idiot, but he didn't want to stop, so he just pressed on. "We're going to be something, to each other, because I'm taking care of your papa, and that means… maybe I'll be taking care of you, too. Kind of." He swallowed. "I love him a lot. A whole lot. And I just want you to know I'm not going to let either one of you down."

He didn't think he was ready to sing a song to her again, not the way he'd done when he'd thought she was his, but he could kind of serenade her like this, giving her his own rhythms, just the way she'd beat a tattoo on Quinn's stomach the last time he'd touched her. For just a moment, he could feel her, as close as his own heartbeat.

Finn rested a hand on his own chest, and thought,  _maybe this is how Puck feels when he wakes up missing her._  He wished he could call Puck right then and tell him about it — or, better yet, go over to his apartment and  _show_  him. Before he realized what he was doing, he was scrambling to his feet, mounting the stairs as fast as he could go.

"Mom?" he called. "Can I please,  _please_  be not grounded anymore?"

* * *

Puck actually went to almost all his classes on Monday. He couldn't bring himself to break his losing streak in math, but the rest he showed up for, mostly on time, listened to the lectures and took notes. It made him feel kind of proud, mostly because he knew Kurt would be proud of him for doing it.

Something about having Finn show up at his apartment was the most totally fucking awesome thing ever. The first time Finn did it, he'd asked in advance if Puck wanted him there, and Puck had had time to get worked up about it enough that when Finn walked in the door, it had started with immediate, passionate fucking on his couch. But eventually Finn had gotten around to asking him to get his collar. Time had kind of slowed down after that. He was pretty sure several hours had passed by the time Finn had uncuffed him from the headboard and put him to bed.

Sunday night, Finn had arrived with barely a ten minute warning, but Puck had gone right away to get the collar and had met him at the door. He felt like he should get down on his knees or something like that, but knowing what a stickler Carl was for protocol, he didn't want to pretend he knew shit with Finn when he obviously didn't, so he just waited, staring at him defiantly. Finn opened the door, saw him standing there and kind of froze in the doorway. He made this noise in his throat that made Puck's knees get wobbly, and just  _came_  at him, leaving the door standing open.

That first night, Finn had chained him up and used Adam's paddle, which had been exactly what Puck had expected. But last night had been different. It hadn't been violent, or even harsh, but Puck hadn't been that aggressively snuggled since the night Finn had slept over and Puck had woken up with bad dreams. Sunday night, Finn had taken Puck to bed, wrapped him up in his limbs and held him there while he talked to him about his daughter. Puck hadn't quite known what to do with Finn acting like that, but he hadn't really felt like safewording out of the hold. He hadn't minded the conversation either. And once Finn had gotten it out of his system, he'd gone ahead and cuffed Puck anyway, and everything had been awesome.

Until just before Glee, when Finn got a text that made his face go white. He looked at Puck.

"What?" Puck demanded.

"It's — we're supposed to go over to the office after school. All of us."

"Shit." Puck nodded at the phone. "What'd you do wrong?"

"Nothing!" Finn yelped. "I haven't — I didn't do  _anything."_  Which might or might not have been true, but the way Finn was acting, all jumpy and anxious, Puck was guessing it wasn't.

"Well, I guess we'd better show, then, huh? You want me to tell Kurt?"

Most of Finn's communication at school with Kurt went through Puck. They figured they could get away with a certain amount of casual contact because of Glee — not to mention Carole and Burt's thing, which seemed to be more and more public these days — but it was easier to just let Kurt talk to his boyfriend. Nobody questioned Finn and Puck hanging out, even after the crap they'd been through, but it seemed pretty unlikely that anybody would accept Finn and Kurt becoming BFFs.

Puck came in and flopped down in the chair next to Kurt, where he was engaged in conversation with Mercedes, and rested a hand on Kurt's knee. Kurt took it, which seemed to be a signal for Mercedes to grin at them. Puck didn't mind.

"I still think it's a demeaning fundraiser," Kurt was saying. "I don't think most people would really get the positive aspects of it. It just seems like an opportunity for boys to treat girls like property. And, seriously, I wouldn't expect  _you_  to be okay with something that has the word  _slave_  on it."

But Mercedes was calm. "Who says the girls have to be the slaves? As far as I know, it's an equal opportunity fundraiser. And if I can get some boy to carry my books and do my dishes, you think I'm gonna feel bad about that? Nuh-uh."

"Well, I think I'll pass." Kurt leaned into Puck a little, nudging their shoulders together, and Puck leaned with him, brushing his lips against Kurt's ear.

"We have to go to Carl's after school."

Kurt didn't react, other than stiffening up a little, but he nodded, and stayed beside Puck for the rest of the rehearsal. On the way out, he linked arms with Puck, walking more closely than he normally would.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Dunno." Puck shrugged. "Finn seems kind of freaked out, though. I wasn't sure if I should offer him a ride or just let him take the bus."

"No," said Kurt, glaring at the cement of the sidewalk. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and thumbed a text. "We'll all drive together."

Finn took a few minutes to arrive at the Navigator. He climbed into the back, frowning at Kurt. "You think this is a good idea?"

"I think it's better than you perseverating about whatever we're about to do on your own. This'll be faster. Do you have any idea what —"

"No." Finn sounded tired. He ran his hand through his hair. "Let's just — just go."

Puck figured a little redirection couldn't hurt. "What was that slave thing Mercedes was talking to you about?"

"Oh, that." Kurt sniffed. "The Cheerios are hosting a student slave auction. It's a fundraiser for Nationals. Talk about bad taste. Like the Cheerios need to raise any more funds?"

"So, people sign up to be — what, exactly?" Puck raised an eyebrow at Kurt.

"To do whatever tasks the person who buys them want them to do. There are some restrictions, and everybody still has to go to class. Nothing physical." He paused, looking suspiciously at Puck. "… Why?"

"Hey." He shrugged. "Sounds right up my alley, don't you think?"

Kurt started to laugh, but stopped abruptly when he realized Puck wasn't. "Are you serious?"

"No, I'm not fucking serious. It's just a fundraiser, whatever."

"Hey," Finn murmured, sliding a hand over the shoulder rest to grip his arm. "You could do that. If you wanted to."

Puck glowered at his lap, trying not to be pissed at Kurt, who hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. He was sure of it. "Maybe I will."

"Noah…" Kurt sighed, his hand joining Finn's on his arm. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"It's not a big deal," he insisted. "Just — whatever."

They were all silent as they pulled into the parking lot beside Carl's office. Finn went in first, holding the door for Puck and Kurt, but once they reached the desk, he slowed, falling back beside them. Angela wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"Carl?" Finn called. A moment later, he appeared, wearing his  _Dr. Carl_  scrubs.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, guys. I didn't expect to get the kits in the mail until Thursday." He beckoned for them to follow him down the hall into his office. "Did you pee before you came here?"

"Uh… no?" Finn's panicked voice stopped Carl in the hallway, and he turned back to look at them again.

"This is about the STD testing, Finn."

"It — oh." Finn laughed, and took a relieved breath. "Of course. I forgot."

"Yes, we can get it all done and send it back tomorrow, and they'll have the results for me in a couple days. Adam agreed to have his own testing done separately and to bring his results with him."

Kurt blinked. "You've been talking with Adam?"

"We've had several phone conversations." Carl picked up three specimen cups with orange lids and handed one to each boy. "Bathroom's at the end of the hall."

It wasn't a big bathroom, but they crowded in together, taking turns at the toilet.

"I don't know how I feel about him talking with Adam about this," Kurt grumbled, washing his hands. "Without  _us."_

"I think he's just used to taking care of things without asking permission," said Finn. "It's not a reflection on you or how responsible you're being."

Puck screwed his cap on tight and flushed the toilet, switching places with Finn. "See, I never would have thought about that. When people take care of stuff for me, it just feels good."

"Even people you don't trust?" Kurt asked. Finn gave him a look.

"You're saying you don't trust Carl?"

"No, I'm saying — oh, never mind." Kurt didn't look like he was in any frame of mind to be rational. Finn obviously wasn't impressed with Kurt's answer, but he wasn't pushing for more.

It didn't bother Puck when Kurt and Finn argued. He supposed it was because he'd grown up in a household where everybody argued with everybody else. As long as nobody was yelling or swearing too much, it still felt civil to him.

They returned the three specimen cups to Carl. Carl took Finn's hand and swabbed it with a sterile wipe. "The three of you looking forward to this weekend?"

"Yeah, definitely — ow!" Finn jerked his hand back, obviously too late, and Carl recaptured it, fastening a band-aid around the tip of his middle finger. "You could have warned me."

"I would have, with anyone else," he agreed serenely. "Kurt, are you ready?"

Kurt let Carl swab him and stab his finger without comment, then watched closely while Carl did Puck's. "I think it'll be an amazing weekend."

"Tess brings it up every time we talk. If I didn't know her better, I'd say she was nervous." He grinned, an all-too-uncommon expression on his face. Puck thought it totally changed the way Carl came across, not to mention taking about fifteen years off his appearance. He grinned back.

"You think James would let me shadow him in the kitchen, if I don't get in his way?"

"You'd have to ask him. Weekends are their busiest time, but I suspect you could arrange a time that works for him." He finished depositing the finger-sticks into cups of solution and set them aside. "These are the HIV tests. We'll get the results for these in about a half hour, if you want to wait around for them. Otherwise I can call you. The chlamydia and gonorrhea tests, I have to send in. You can't reliably test for herpes without a pelvic exam, so unless any one of you is exhibiting symptoms, I think we'll have to assume you're clean."

"I can make dinner at my place while that's waiting," Puck offered. He reached out and tugged on the sleeve of Carl's scrub top. "Okay if you leave that alone while we eat?"

Carl looked startled. "I — yes, sure. If you're inviting me?"

"Dude." Puck gave him his best  _what-the-fuck_  look. "You're my boyfriend's boyfriend."

The last time Puck had seen Carl blush like that, it had been under Tess' watchful eye. "Well, I… thanks. That'd be fine."

Carl agreed to meet them next door in about fifteen minutes. The way he said it, it sounded like the delay was to keep people from noticing the four of them leaving the office together at the same time and heading to the apartment next door. But then Finn decided he would stick around to keep him company.

Puck nudged Kurt as they headed out the door. "They're totally making out in his office."

"Not really our business, sweetheart," Kurt said, but Puck knew there was no way Kurt wasn't thinking about it. He grinned at Kurt and watched him scowl. "Come on. You're going to have to put me to work if you want to have anything ready by the time they come over."

* * *

Will called this time, before showing up at Emma's house. He'd been a little surprised by Emma's revelations about her choice of reading material, but even more surprised by her outburst at school. Of course, it had turned out to be Sue's fault for inciting a riot and spreading misinformation, but that didn't change the fact that Emma had clearly been hurt by his actions.

"You don't mind if I come over?" he asked.

_"No, Will,"_ she said, sighing. " _I just don't know how much I should trust what you tell me."_

"How about I tell you what I know, and you can decide what you want to do after you hear that?" he suggested. "If you still want to call me a slut after that, I'll leave."

_"That was inappropriate of me. I'm sorry."_

"Well, it was inaccurate, in any case. I don't think you need to worry about apologizing, though. I'd rather, as my friend, that you listen to what I have to say."

When he got there, she invited him in, smiling when he took his shoes off without being prompted. As the conversation didn't really have any easy beginning, he just jumped into something awkward. "So, your… your therapist."

"Yes." She took a deep breath. "He's been helping me deal with my… my situation."

"Using… that thing you were telling me about. I mean, you didn't  _say_ that at school, but I was assuming…" He paused expectantly, and after a moment, she nodded. "Does… did it help?"

"Yes? I mean, somewhat. I don't expect a cure-all. I've been handling it myself for so long."

He nodded. "I'm just… I'm really proud of you. For looking for help."

"Oh." That seemed to throw her. "Will, I'm not sure you should be proud of me for paying a man to do that to me."

"Why not? If it works, it works. You said it was a study? That there was some evidence behind it?"

"I don't think I should have to justify myself to you." Now she looked resentful again. He sighed.

"Let me try again. I wanted to tell you what actually happened with me and… everybody."

While Emma poured them both glasses of iced tea, he summarized the last few months between himself and Toby, including his brief encounter with Shelby ("I still don't know why she  _wanted_  to seduce me if she thought I was gay?") and Toby's own indiscretion, but ended up having to take further leaps back into his own past when she asked him if he'd ever had other male lovers .

"The three years Toby and I were apart, after I married Terri? It was brutal. I got a little self-destructive before I finally decided I needed to know if I really  _did_  want other men, as opposed to just wanting him." He shook his head, feeling more embarrassed by this than by anything that had happened during the current year.

She didn't even pretend not to be interested. "What was your conclusion?"

"My conclusion was it wasn't as simple as anatomy. I was still in love with Toby. I really wanted  _him,_  and sleeping with a bunch of anonymous men wasn't going to change that. So I gave up, after a few unsuccessful attempts." He shrugged. "Eventually, he landed in Lima when Cory was born, and I came to find him. I really don't want to go through that again."

"Of course you want to make it work. You still love each other, even if there's been betrayal." She took a sip of her tea. "I don't think it's anything you can't work through."

"You think I should trust him after he slept with another man?"

"Come on, Will." Now she was smiling at him. "You were going to do that with me, and he said it was okay."

He frowned. "I guess? You really think that's the —"

"Will, I don't think it matters if it's the same. You love him, and you  _actually_  want to work things out. Doesn't that mean more than a failed attempt at communication?" She pointed at the door. "This isn't prime-time drama. Things don't have to be black and white. Go  _talk to him."_

She didn't pull away when he hugged her, and even snuggled into his embrace for a few moments. Maybe the sessions with her therapist had been helping after all.

* * *

Toby picked up Wade at her house. He asked in advance if he should come to the door or just honk the horn, because he knew what it was like to have parents who really didn't want to see a man like Toby show up at their son's house, but Wade told him to come right in. Both parents seemed willing enough to let him drive Wade to the Dayton PFLAG meeting, so Toby counted that as a point in their favor.

"They're not a hundred percent okay with it," she told him on the way back to the car, "but I think they had to have known since I was a kid, on some level. It would be hard to grow up in a house with me and not notice that I'm not…"

"Not a boy?" Toby suggested. Wade shrugged.

"I'm not really sure what words I should use, but at least in my head, I'm pretty clearly not a boy."

Toby smiled at her. "Well, no one knows better than you, darlin.' I think you can assume you're the expert on you." He eased the car out of the driveway. "I'll say right up front that I'm no expert on transgender, though, so you'll have to expect I'm not going to know everything. On top of that, I'm damn curious, so I'll probably ask a whole bunch of nosy questions. You don't have to answer any of them, and if I hurt your feelings or make you uncomfortable, I want you to say something, okay?"

Wade nodded. Now she looked nervous. "I'll do my best."

"It's not a test. And when we get to the meeting, you don't have to say anything either. You're just fine bein' my guest today."

But at the PFLAG meeting, Wade was as personable and outgoing as Toby had ever seen her at school. She sat right down beside several other girls and struck up a conversation. Toby had never been so happy to be ignored.

When the facilitator, Chris, invited the group to explain why they were there, Wade didn't hesitate.

"I'm a girl," she said, tipping up her chin. "And nobody knows."

"Well, that makes nine of us who know." Chris reached a manicured hand across the circle to shake Wade's hand. "So glad to meet you, Wade."

She made a face. "Wade's the name my parents gave me, but… that's not the name I use for myself in my head."

"You get to use any name you like. My own parents named me Christian December Holliday, because they had a horrible sense of humor." She rolled her eyes, making the kids laugh. "I always say, at least they didn't name me Jesus!"

Toby wasn't sure if he should pretend not to be surprised, but he was. "Would it be offensive to say you're a very convincing woman?" he asked her.

"I'd be thrilled to know I've convinced you of something that's true. I love to be right." Her teasing grin was infectious, and Toby couldn't help grinning back. Wade was smiling too. "So my point is, if you don't like your name, you get to decide if you want to change it — and that goes for everything else about you. You, and nobody else, get to decide."

After the meeting, Toby managed to pry Chris away from the kids long enough to shake her hand. "When I asked my mentors in Louisville for a referral, they said you had a great rapport with students," he said. "They sure as hell were right."

She gave him a sunny smile back. "Why, thank you. That Kentucky thing of yours is absolutely adorable. Did you cultivate that? Because it sounds  _pretty convincing."_

"All right, all right," he sighed. "I warned Wade I wouldn't always say the right thing."

But she was laughing. "Toby — it was Toby, right? — you don't  _have_  to say the right thing if you say it in that accent, because trust me, I'd let you get away with  _murder_."

"Your flirtin' is lost on me, darlin'," he assured her. "I'm as gay as a goose."

Chris cocked her head. "Uh, wouldn't that be 'gay as a gander?' See, that's what I'm talking about.  _Adorbs._ " She took his arm. "As it happens, I've had plenty of practice seducing gay men. It sucked to have to come out twice, first as a gay man and then later to say  _oh, wait, sorry, got that wrong._  But I think I always knew. Maybe I thought being a gay man would be more socially acceptable than being a woman." She shook her head ruefully. "Honestly? I still wonder that sometimes."

"Hey, you got to come out twice, I got to come out zero times. Nobody in my home town had a closet my size. I did my best from day one to shatter stereotypes by becoming a dancer."

"Dancer, hmmm?" She considered him. "What kind of dance?"

"All kinds. Jazz, ballet, tap, modern. I've been teaching at the Denver School for the Arts until recently, but I'm at Carmel now."

She was getting excited. "Tell me you teach private lessons? Because I have a client I've been seeing for about a year now in Mansfield. He's almost thirteen, and his mother's willing to travel to find the right teacher. He's wicked talented, but Jake  _needs_  a strong male role model."

"I've been considering taking on some private students," Toby said. Even as the words came out, he realized that they were true. He  _had_  been thinking that, and the idea was enough to give him a charge. "I'd be happy to meet your young man. No harm in tryin'."

Wade talked a mile a minute on the way back to Akron, happily chattering to Toby about the kids she'd met and the conversations they'd had. "Chris and two of the other counselors in her practice host this online message board for LBGTQ teenagers?" She bounced in her seat. "I think that'll help a lot."

When Toby dropped her off at home, she hugged him hard.

"You're glowin' a little, there," he cautioned. Wade laughed.

"I was just thinking how my Aunt Felicia always said, 'A tiger can't change its stripes?' And I wasn't sure if she was talking to me, but… I think maybe my stripes are  _showing_  for the first time. I'm feeling lucky for the first time since I got into Vocal Adrenaline. Thanks to you, Mr. Grey."

Toby actually hummed  _Bohemian Rhapsody_  on the way back to his house. After all the work he and Shelby had put into making it work as a showcase number for Jesse, to have to recreate it  _without_  Jesse had been almost too much to contemplate. They'd tried other songs, but they simply hadn't had the same punch, and in the end Shelby and Toby had decided to stick with it, using an assorted ensemble cast to make it work. As much as he hated to admit it, there wasn't anything as brilliant as Jesse singing angry Queen. He was thoroughly sick of the song by now, as was often the case with the songs he chose for his students to perform; it was a reasonable sacrifice, but he generally didn't want to hear those songs for a good six months to a year afterwards. Today, though… today it felt okay. Like maybe there wasn't so much to worry about after all.

He drove past his house and went the extra mile to stop at Starbucks. More than twenty-four hours was an unacceptable amount of time between coffee breaks. But when he pulled into the parking lot, a familiar figure was hurrying out to his car, not even looking at the road. If Toby hadn't been watching carefully, he might have run him over.

"Jon," he murmured, watching him drag an arm over his eye as he struggled in his pocket for his car keys. Toby pulled into a parking space and climbed out of his car just as Jon dropped them, swearing loudly.

"…of all the days to — god  _dammit!"_

"Hey, don't worry yourself," Toby called, bending down to reach for the keys. He could see them just under Jon's front tire, beneath the toe of his boot. Jon took a startled step back.

"Toby." His voice was pained. "Oh, fuck, Toby." He gave up, mid-stoop, and leaned back against the car, his elbows clutched against himself. "I'm so sorry."

"What is it?"

He was breathing hard, like he'd run a long distance. Toby felt a wave of uneasiness overtake him.

"What?" Toby repeated. "Are you all right?"

"No. I'm not. And you might not be either." Jon stared across at Toby with haunted eyes, and when Toby tried to reach out to him, he jerked away. "Don't. Don't try to make this okay."

"Oh, Jon," he breathed. He didn't need to hear Jon's voice to know what he was going to say, but it was the pleading expression on Jon's face he couldn't handle.  _Fix this,_ the expression said, but Toby couldn't, and that was the worst thing about it. This wasn't something that could be fixed. It was something Jon would be living with for the rest of his life.

"I tested positive."


End file.
